Faith
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Adam finds, after a life-shattering event, that lost faith can be found again. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and setting are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. Chapter 1

He could see the sky and a few scudding clouds through the bars of the cell's high single window. It was not not yet 8 in the morning and the day was already a scorcher. The prisoner's ignored breakfast had grown even more distasteful, the biscuit and sausages now sitting in partially-congealed grease; it gave off a rancid smell. The coffee was all he had consumed—as bitter as it was but he had barely noticed. A deep sigh escaped him but it wasn't one of hopelessness—it was of resignation. He knew this would be the result of his actions and things turned out as he had expected; he wasn't disappointed. His only regret was that afterwards, he hadn't put the gun barrel in his mouth and swallowed the next bullet in the chamber and put an end to it that way. So much easier.

He would, of course, refuse the hood; Adam Cartwright wanted his last view of this world to be more than the inside of a coarse, black hood. The hanging was set for dawn in two days' time, his hanging, and Adam hoped that he would be facing the east when they slipped the noose over his head. He could then see the dawning of a new day as his last sight—a poetic way to leave this "mortal coil."

The fear of death, "the undiscovered country," was the only reason people kept living, Shakespeare had written, and just a few days ago, Adam would have agreed but not now. He actually had no fear of death anymore—a bit leery about the pain if the noose didn't snap his neck—but not of dying. He was actually weary of drawing in breath and feeling the blood surge through his veins, keeping him alive.

Last night he had lain in the cot that smelled of stale sweat and other men's fear and stared at the roughly-mortared ceiling that was illuminated by the partial moon and considered how just a few nights ago he had lain in the light of the pale, full moon and held all that was dear in his arms. He fancied he could even smell her hair again, the lavender water with which she rinsed it, filling his nostrils. Grief consumed him again and a sob began to rise up from his chest. He pressed his head between his hands, wishing he could crush his skull like Hoss did walnuts, pulling the fleshy meat out of the decimated shells afterwards.

When he stood on the scaffolding, Adam knew avoiding his father's eyes would be difficult and his brothers would be standing among the crowd as well—that is, if there was a crowd. This was Carson City and anyone from Virginia City would have to travel in the early darkness if they cared to view the hanging of the murdering eldest son of the Cartwright family. Adam imagined his execution would be the topic of conversation for weeks afterward.

 _"_ _I always knew Adam had it in 'im—so moody—never one to open up."_

 _"_ _So sad—so sad. Can't say I blame him for doing what he did though. But it was murder—simply put. Should've let the law handle it."_

 _"_ _If I'd thought any of them would've killed a man like that, well, I'd 've put my money on Little Joe; he's the one with that hot temper—just blows up in your face like a stick of dynamite!"_

 _"_ _That's the whole point—Adam didn't just blow up—he was cool about it. Shot the man and then sat down and even ordered a beer, I hear."_

 _"_ _It's Ben I feel sorry for. He already had so much loss in his life and now his eldest son is dead. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it? I mean why does God give one person so much suffering?"_

 _"_ _Ben's got all that money to console him. I don't feel any too sorry for 'im. Besides, that Adam Cartwright got what was comin' to 'im. He always thought he was so high and mighty, him with his education and always lordin' it over us. Thought he could get away with murder. Well, I hope that bastard's sweatin' it out in hell right now."_

~ 0 ~

There had been no trial as Adam hadn't disputed anything—had just remained silent through the hearing. Ben Cartwright begged Adam to put up some sort of defense—something-even though Hoss had told him what happened, had described Adam, who after shooting the man at close range, was covered with gore. Adam then pushed the man aside—he fell to the floor with a hollow thud-and sat down, placing his weapon on the table, on top of the cards and the blood-spattered money that lay in a pile. He was seemingly calm and oblivious to the chaos around him, the men scuffling to get out of the saloon faster than even the saloon girls. Adam then looked at the small gold cross on the snapped chain in his left hand before he closed his fingers around it. And he waited.

After the killing, blood, small shards of bone as well as tissue marked Adam's shirt and pants. Sheriff McElwee was taken aback when he took in the scene, the faceless man lying on the floor,his gun still holstered. Then Adam Cartwright rose up before him, his hands raised in surrender and the sheriff stepped back, astonished. The blow-back from the shot had sprayed Adam with blood and human matter—it was clinging to the stubble on his cheeks, chin and neck as well.

In the jail, the sheriff gave his prisoner a basin of water, "to wash that shit off." And when he had tossed the water out the back door, it was pink and contained sediment from the dead man's skull and bits of grey flesh. But the clothes—they didn't seem to bother the man who wore them but they bothered the sheriff. He sent his deputy to his house to fetch a clean shirt and trousers. "Tell my wife I need 'em for a prisoner or she'll think somethin' bad happened to me." The only thing in the clothing exchange that concerned the prisoner was removing a gold cross from his pocket and tucking it in the chest pocket of the clean shirt. The sheriff allowed him to keep it since it wasn't evidence in the murder. Least ways not that he could see. And it seemed to comfort the big, dark-haired man; the h sheriff noticed the prisoner would take it out and look at it on occasion or just rub his thumb over the smooth, shiny surface. "Odd how murderers turn to religion once they're caught," McElwee had told his deputy. "Wonder if he'll pray on the gallows."

Although Hiram Wood, the family's long-time lawyer, and Ben Cartwright had begged Adam to at least put up a fight in order to avoid the rope, to defend himself, Adam had refused. What was the point? He was responsible for what he did and the dead man had been as well; Adam saw that he was punished and now, in turn, was his punishment. That's just the way things were—it was only logical. Hiram had pled nolo contendere despite Adam's lack of interest and Judge Patton, after hearing testimony, rejected the plea, stating that it was absurd and an insult to both the legal system and his intelligence.

"But, Adam, if you don't change your plea to not guilty before it's too late, there'll be no trial-you'll hang and once you're dead, there's no chance left," Ben Cartwright said. "Can't you understand that?"

Adam said nothing—just looked at his hands. He had already explained his feelings it to his father once and was tired of it all. All of it.

"Ben, I've talked to him over and over," Hiram Wood said as he paced the narrow cell, pulling out his handkerchief to mop his brow; he wore a light-gray wool suit, white starched shirt and a cravat with a gold nugget stick pin. "I've told him that I might be able to get a trial or at least a new hearing because of the judge's refusal to accept our plea but it does no good. Besides, Adam knows the law as well as I do. I don't even know why I'm bothering."

Adam looked up at him. "I don't know why either."

"Well," Hiram muttered, "let me file another brief. I may get an extension on the execution; I'm waiting to hear from the governor's office; I've sent three wires. I'm hoping for a stay."

"See, Pa," Adam said wryly. "Knew you should have gone through with that nomination for governor years ago. Then you could pardon me yourself."

Ben shifted from one foot to another. "It's not a joking matter, Adam. Hiram and I are doing all we know to do. I've written our congressman—he's an old friend and also Judge Burgundy. I hoping he'll intervene in some way.

"Don't," Adam stated. "Don't delay the inevitable. I don't want to have to wait much longer."

Ben and Hiram exchanged glances. Ben slightly nodded and Hiram called to be let out of the cell; he was going to file a brief for Ben's sake. They had been friends for more than twenty years and so he was determined to do all he could to save Adam; he would do it for Ben even though Hiram knew it was hopeless. The deputy who had been standing nearby, unlocked the door and Hiram Wood left a frustrated man.

"Why don't you go too, Pa," Adam said. "You look tired."

"Adam, I want to stay a while and…"

"No, Pa. I want you to leave and please, I think it would be best if you don't come back. It only causes you pain and I…that wasn't my intent. Believe me; I've thought of nothing but…I'm sorry that I've caused you so much misery, Pa, but that's all I'm sorry for. I'm not sorry for what I did."

"Son…" Ben's eyes filled with the tears he hadn't yet shed. Adam then stood and so did Ben. The two men faced each other. Then son pulled father into an embrace and they held on to each other for a few moments, their heads filled with the sensation of warmth, the touch of each other, the smell of each other—the odor that suggested a primal recognition of one's own kind. Adam finally broke away.

"Goodbye, Pa, and please don't come see me again." Adam stepped back and Ben looked confused. "Tell Hoss and Joe that I'll refuse their visits as well. It's best that way." And Adan turned his back to his father to look out his cell's window and Ben Cartwright reluctantly left his son alone in the Carson City jail. But he would come back again, no matter how much Adam protested.


	2. Chapter 2

To testify, she had dressed in her Sunday best, eschewing any gewgaws and baubles; she didn't want anyone to think she was a whore. She was simply a 32 year old widow who needed to support her three children and her mother. After stating her name, Mrs. Prissy Halston, and swearing she would tell the truth, Prissy started relating the events of that night. All eyes were riveted on her except for Adam's; he had no interest in her testimony. When chastised for not having interest—not even bothering to feign interest, Adam told Hiram, "After all, I was there, remember? I know what happened." Hiram didn't care for Adam's flippant attitude and told him so.

"He stepped in the saloon—yeah, Adam Cartwright, that dark-haired man- and looked around. This big man, the one who's his brother, Eric Cartwright, yeah, him, was behind him standin' there with his hands on his hips lookin' around too. I walked up to him—that man, yeah, him, Adam Cartwright, and asked him if he wanted anything, you know, like a drink or somethin'. I figured from their look and smell that they were just cowboys stoppin' in for a drink and a good time before movin' on, but he just stared at my chest. It made me nervous but then he reached out and grabbed a cross I was wearin' on a chain. Well, I tried to back off and told him he didn't pay yet and maybe iffen he bought me a few drinks, I'd let him touch me. I laughed—you know—tryin' to keep things light 'cause he looked mean and I was a little scared, but he didn't let go and then he asked me where I got it—the cross.

"Well, I said it was none of his business but he grabbed my arm real hard, pulled me up close and asked me again where I got it. I said I'd scream if he didn't let me go but before he did, he jerked that chain right off my neck. It hurt the back of my neck real good—I had a raw line there for a bit- and I cried out and grabbed the back of my neck. Then the big one, yeah, Eric Cartwright, well, he kinda worked the other man's hand off my arm and apologized for 'im and asked me real nice where I got the cross—said he'd pay me two silver dollars for it and pulled 'em outta his pocket and gave me two and then handed me one more. The other man—yeah, Adam Cartwright—he was just looking around the room and then he looked at me like he was gonna kill me—and all for a gold cross. Anyway, he said 'Where's the cowboy who gave it to you? The one with the Indian hatband?' I told him that the cowboy was over at the poker table in the corner—pointed to him. I said that cowboy gave it to me. I said that I'd brought him and the others playin' poker a round of drinks. Well, the cowboy—the one with the beaded Indian hatband—he told me his name was Hank and he pulled the chain and cross outta his pocket and dropped it down the bodice of my dress. He said if I let him fish it out, it's mine. So I agreed—but that's all. I'm not a whore—I don't do those and I don't sell myself, but it looked like gold and it was pretty anyway. So after he felt around for a while—you know, just grabbing me here and there and laughin' along with all the others, he pulled it outta my dress and gave it to me. I didn't know it'd been taken off a dead woman or I never woulda taken it. Honest.

"So Adam Cartwright just walked over to Hank, tapped him on the shoulder and when Hank turned around, that man there—yeah, Adam Cartwright—he held the cross out. 'You took this off my wife after you killed her and now I'm gonna kill you.' Hank, well, he turned white and started to get up, goin' for his gun, but Adam Cartwright just pulled out his gun and shot Hank smack in the middle of his face. Blood went everywhere. I mean everywhere and I started screamin' and the other men ran, topplin' chairs all over and then that man there—Adam Cartwright-he pushed the dead man outta the chair and sat down it in and laid his gun on the table top. He just sat there, leanin' over, his elbows on the table holding that cross in his hands and lookin' at it. That other man, Hoss Cartwright, kept askin' him to leave, tried pullin' on his arm but he wouldn't. Then the sheriff came and arrested him for murder after some people and me told what happened. I ain't never seen such a thing and hope I never do again. I still see it every time I close my eyes—Hank's eyes' goin' wide and then the shot and the bloody hole where his nose had been."

The courtroom stayed hushed—no one spoke even after the witness stepped down. Prissy glanced at Adam as she walked to the back doors and they locked eyes. Then Prissy Halston ducked her head and left the courtroom. She was confused about what she felt; on the one hand, Hank was just an ordinary cowboy who was slaughtered in front of her but then well, if Hank assaulted and killed Adam Cartwright's wife and then robbed her of a cross-a cross of all things, well, maybe he should get off. Prissy was glad she wasn't on the jury, not that she ever would be—that was the purview of men—but it would be a hard decision to make. It would be a shame to see a handsome man like Adam Cartwright who loved his wife and avenged her murder, hang for such a thing. But she had sworn to tell the truth and so she did. She could live with that.

Mai Wong had been brought to Carson City to testify as well. The girl was terrified at having to speak in front of a group of _round-eyes_ and the whole time of her testimony, she was asked to speak up. "Please, Miss Mai," the judge would kindly say, "you need to speak up so that everyone can hear you"

The 13 year old "niece" of Hop Sing (their relationship was tenuous as it seemed that almost everyone in Chinatown claimed a sanguinary link to each other for opportunistic purposes) had been working as a lady's maid and doing the laundry and housework for Adam and his wife. When the cowboy whose name was revealed as Hank Crowell, had ridden up to the house while she and "Missy" sat on the front porch shelling beans and talking, it was near the close of a lovely day; the Mister would soon be home.

"Man ride up and ask to water horse. Missy say yes, but he leave after. Man, he smile, say, 'Yes, ma'am. Anything you say,' and take horse to water trough but keep lookin' at Missy Cartwright and grinning. Missy tell me go in the house—get Mistah Adam's gun from desk and bring out for her. I do as Missy say—give her the gun—she hide it in her skirts-and then she tell me go inside and leave out back door. She tell me to hide far from house. I go in house and watch out window for little. Man come back to the porch, ask for food. Missy, her hand with gun close to her, tell him no food—leave now.

"Man, he laugh. Say she pretty piece—that what he say and he grab for her but Missy pull out gun—point at him and say to leave. Missy say she shot him if he no leave. She back up to door. He laugh and grab Missy's arm and pull gun from her and pull her to him. One hand he rip open dress."

Adam shifted in his chair. He didn't want to hear this part of the story-it haunted his sleep as it was and he had only head once before—from Mai Wong's lips as she sat sobbing on the porch steps that evening.

Mai Wong began to softly cry again, the tears coursing down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. The prosecutor told her to continue.

"Man, he start to kiss Missy and him keep laughing—she fight man and he laugh even more and then he…he lap her and throw her on the dirt. Then…I don't watch. I…I act like coward…I run out back door and keep running. I hide like Missy told.

"I shame my ancestors by hiding. I hear them in the air telling me go back. I wait only small time and then I go back in house, take rifle from rack but not know how to use. I look out and man gone so I open door and Missy lay on ground—her clothes torn—her skirts up. I know she dead—she have red marks on neck—so small neck—tiny-and Missy's eyes stare at me but not see. My fault she dead." Mai Wong sobbed in the wooden chair on the dais. She stopped herself and sat up straighter. "I pull her to porch. She have bones like bird—so light—but I not able to take her in the house.

"Mistahs Adam, Hoss and Joe, they come riding up. Mistah Adam, he…he not seem to understand what happened. He pick up Missy and take her to porch and sit with her on lap—he not seem to understand—keep talking to her like she only be playing child's game-but Mistah Hoss, he ask me who did it and I tell him it cowboy with band on hat—beaded like Indians do. Then Mistah Adam, he ask where her chain, where her cross? I shrug—I not know.

"Mistah Adam take Missus in house and put her on bed, tell me to wash her, change her clothes and fix hair. Then he tell Joe to go for Mistah Ben and to take Missus into town. He leave. Mistah Hoss, he follow—he ask Mistah Adam where he think he go but he not answer. Mistah Hoss, he say that Mistah Adam not go alone. They leave and I do as Mistah Adam say."

Mai Wong, wiping the tears from her cheeks, looked apologetically at Adam sitting at the long table. He smiled gently at her and she nodded in acknowledgement. She walked back to her seat next to her mother who put a comforting arm around her and the young girl began to cry again but softly and quietly. It was all too much but Mai Wong would have come and testified even without her father's permission. Missy had been good to her and the Mister had been gracious in giving her a warm room and kindness.


	3. Chapter 3

Hoss hadn't been asked to testify although he had sworn he wouldn't anyway, had told Adam that there was no way in hell he was going to testify against his own brother. But because Adam hadn't pled, all the judge wanted to hear were the simple details and that's where the saloon girl's and a card player's testimony came in but his testimony was short and to the point.

"We were playin' a friendly game of poker. Cartwright there came up, dangled this cross in front in front of Hank who I'd never met before that night, and said he killed his wife. Hank started to stand up, said, 'Now wait a minute,' and then Cartwright pulled a gun and all I heard was a shot 'cause I had already taken off. After the dust settled, I told the sheriff what happened. That's it. I don't know no more 'n that."

Hiram had insisted that Mai Wong be allowed to testify and Joe had ridden back to Virginia City to fetch the young Chinese girl who was back with her family in Chinatown.

Her father would not allow her to go. "She not go!" His chin jutted out and he folded his arms across his chest and shook his head for emphasis.

"Please," Joe begged. "Mai Wong is the only one who saw what happened—or at least most of what happened. It might help Adam—save him from being hanged if the judge hears the circumstances."

Mai Tan shook his head again. "Daughter not go with you. She young—too young to make such journey. She stay here. Work in shop."

Joe looked around. The Mai family rose early, hours before light and made long, delicate noodles to sell every morning to women shopping for the day's food. At mid-day, they took the noodles that hadn't yet sold and boiled them in onion-infused chicken broth. These they sold to shoppers on one of the narrow, winding streets of Chinatown. Their pretty young daughter only had to shyly drop her eyes and then look coyly up at any passing man and he would stop at the family's steaming pot and buy a bowl of noodles, trying to start up a conversation which she refused. Even though she wasn't making as much money as she did working as a domestic, she still helped her family and after what had happened to Missy Cartwright which could just as easily also happened to Mai Wong, well, her mother wanted her home.

Joe was frustrated; Mai Tan seemed immoveable. Joe then went home and returned with Hop Sing who in rapid-fire Chinese, finally convinced Mai Tan to allow his daughter along with her mother as chaperone, to travel to Carson City and testify. But it wasn't just Hop Sing's less than infallible logic that won over Mai Wong's father—there was also the $200.00 that Hop Sing declared "Mistah Joseph" would pay for lost income.

But Mai Wong's emotional testimony didn't mitigate Adam's crime as far as the judge was concerned. The judge only considered his decision for a few minutes. Then the bailiff told the defendant to stand. Hiram stood alongside Adam who stoically listened but had no expectations of mercy.

"I listened to the testimony of two eyewitnesses, Mr. Cartwright, and I've heard no contradiction, no recitation of events that should deter me from construing anything other than an act of cold-blooded murder. It is therefore my duty to render a verdict of guilty as charged and to determine that you be hanged by the neck until dead at a yet to be determined time." The judge slammed his gavel and then rose leaving the stifling courtroom.

~ 0 ~

The night before he was to be hanged, Adam Cartwright lay on the cot, one arm thrown over his eyes. Just as he did every night, he thought of his wife, almost believing that he could feel her soft, small hands lightly touch his cheek, her warm lips on his neck and chest. He sighed into the emptiness.

His father had told him about her burial, how many people had attended and that she was buried by the lake. There wasn't a headstone yet as Ben had sent to Kansas City for one made of white, Italian marble, and he had a dedication which he hoped Adam would approve, engraved on the pure, clean stone—"Kathleen Rosamund Cartwright; Beloved wife of Adam Cartwright; 1845-1869." And then below it, Hoss had said to have engraved, "Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. "It was somethin' I read in a play that Shakespeare wrote when I was in the 8th grade. I remember it 'cause I asked Adam 'bout it, 'bout why Hamlet would be goin' to heaven after killin' his uncle and that man who was hidin' behind the tapestry—you know, Ophelia's father. I 'member he said that first, you have to believe that there is a heaven but the point was that Hamlet avenged his father's murder.

"I asked him why Hamlet didn't just tell the sheriff or such and let 'em handle it and I 'member Adam laughed and said that royalty was the law more or less and that since there wasn't really any proof 'cept for the ghost, that Hamlet's daddy had been murdered, well, Hamlet took it on himself to even the score. Anyway, I think Adam would like that line on her gravestone."

Ben had suggested, "I can have a statue put up, something to make it… special. An angel or, since she was Catholic, the Virgin Mary." Ben sat in the cell the day after Adam was arrested. He had done what Adam had asked, had taken Kat's body in to Dr. Martin. The doctor had turned when he saw her body; she had always been such a happy, young woman and now she lay still and cold in his surgery. It affected him like a body-blow, almost knocking the air from him.

"Have you informed Roy Coffee yet?" Paul Martin had asked as he looked at the pale, smooth face of Mrs. Cartwright. She was dressed in a pale green dress, her hair in soft, auburn curls piled on her head and held with pins. And to fend off the frozen open mouth of rigor mortis, Mai Wong, as was her people's custom, had wrapped a white silk scarf around Mrs. Cartwright's chin and tied the ends on top, working the ends of the scarf into the mass of curls.

Ben had told Roy and when Roy arrived, there wasn't much that Ben could tell him about what had occurred. "Mai Wong can tell you," Ben had said. "She's at the Ponderosa with Hop Sing. I only know what Joe told me on the way over." Ben looked out the door to the waiting room, actually Paul Martin's parlor. "Where is Joe?"

"I sent him to fetch the Clancy's—she is their daughter."

So all Ben told Adam was that the Clancy's had insisted on a Catholic burial and it was all he could manage to have them allow Kat to be buried on the Ponderosa property since Liam Clancy was a stubborn man and his "Katie Rose" his youngest and favorite child.

Liam Clancy, cursing Adam Cartwright, blaming him for making his "darlin' Katie Rose" live in the heathen wilderness, had sat in Paul Martin's front parlor holding his wife who sobbed and kept repeating, "My baby child, my child, my child." She had borne 10 children but only four had lived past their fifth birthday. The other six were buried in Ireland. Kathleen had been born in Baltimore and knew, after the near-fatal birth, that the small, lovely babe would be her last.

The Clancy's had then joined another group of Irish immigrants who wanted to leave the east and travel to the west. Another group and traveled to the south but from what Liam Clancy had heard about the weather down that way, he eschewed the south and chose the west. After all, it was the promise land or so he had been convinced.

But the promise land it wasn't. But they were there and with an optimism that was unusual, Clancy built a house beside those of his traveling companions. The Sullivans lived across the dirt street and the O'Caseys to the right, the Murphys on the left. Just as the Chinese lived in one area, so the Irish lived in anther, enjoying the companionship, the temperament and the common experiences of not just the hardship of the westward journey, but the memories of their beloved Ireland, the Emerald Isle. They could reminisce for hours with one another, the women over their darning and the men over a nice mug of stout.

It was they who built a Catholic church, wrote until they found a priest, Father O'Connor, to come out and start their parish. It wasn't Ireland but it was as close as they could make it and they finally had a graveyard of their own. No longer would a faithful and loyal Irishman have to lie for eternity next to a murderous gunfighter or worse, a Lutheran.

Adam had declined a statue; Kat, his Kat, would be appalled by anything so gaudy. He could even hear her chiding him at the thought of such a thing, what she would say and he had a whole conversation in his head, even hearing her slightly lilting speech. "Why, Adam Cartwright, why would you waste all that hard-earned money on a statue? I have no need of such a thing—not even a tombstone really as the dead don't remain in the dirt—just their 'husk,' so to speak. The soul rises and is glorified only by the reflection of God's love. Humans shouldn't be glorified by others. Put the money in the poor box at church."


	4. Chapter 4

_"_ _Kat, come sit a moment." Adam pushed back his chair. The legs scraped on the wood floor._

 _"_ _Adam Carwright! It's bad enough that your boot heels mark up my floors but now you go and deliberately…"_

 _Kat stopped talking because her husband, her husband who desired her every moment of every day had grasped one of her small wrists and pulled her down onto his lap and covered her mouth with his. She felt the heat rise up within her; it started as an ache in her belly and rose through her veins to the tips of her ears. She put her arms about his neck and returned his ardor-then pulled herself away and tried to stand up but he held her firmly about the waist and kept her with him._

 _"_ _Release me, husband," she said. "I have work to do and so do you. I won't give in and have you take me back upstairs. Last time Mai Wong had just finished making the bed and we mussed it up again—it was a bit embarrassing."_

 _"_ _That's no issue," Adam said as he kissed her white neck. "She's paid well and there's barely enough for her to do anyway. You do too much around here."_

 _Kat pushed herself away again but smiled down at him. "She's just a young girl. Besides, it's my house, our house, and I love to make it nice so that you enjoy coming home."_

 _"_ _We could live in a shack and I'd still love coming home to you." Adam placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her lovely face to him and kissed her again. Kat, his Kat—how he adored her. His desire for her rose higher._

 _She again tried to disentangle herself. "Your brothers are coming for dinner and both Wong and I have much to do. I thought I would make a nice pork roast with apples. Hoss likes that. Perhaps boiled, buttered potatoes, string beans or should I make white beans? Joe loves white beans. Biscuits as well and Mai Wong can make almond cakes for dessert."_

 _"_ _Woman, can't you think about anything but food?" Adam was half-teasing, half-serious. He ran his hands up her skirts, feeling her smooth thigh above the rolled black stocking._

 _"_ _If I think about much more, I'll have to go to confession." She slapped at his hand as it slid to the soft, vulnerable inner thigh—the skin so tender. She knew her husband and that next he would slide his hand higher while kissing her neck and her throat. "Give you an inch," she would say as seriously as she could muster and he would ignore her required protestations until he seduced her away from her housework._

 _"_ _Loving your husband isn't a sin—you don't have to confess that." Adam initially had trouble understanding why Kat went to confession so often—or at all. Of what sins could she possible be guilty? In his eyes, his Kat was pure; it was he who had a black soul. But once a week, usually Wednesdays, he drove his wife into Virginia City and waited in the back of the church while Kat went into the confessional and came out almost transcendent._

 _Once, on the ride home, he asked her what she could possibly have to confess._

 _"_ _That's between me and my priest—and God."_

 _"_ _I'm not asking for specifics but you, I mean, Kat, you're the…least sinful person I know. Are you tainted somehow by being with me? Is that it?"_

 _She had turned to him and Adam sucked in his breath at the loveliness of his Kat. She was no beauty in the sense of a lauded actress or showgirl who wore rouge on her cheeks and lips, kohl on her lashes, but there was almost a glow about Kat. Her skin was milky-white with just a light sprinkle of freckles across her slightly pug nose. Adam adored her nose and would often kiss the tip of it making her laugh. Her auburn hair constantly revolted against the strictness of the nets and pins that attempted to confine it and slipped free whenever it could. At night, when she took down her hair, Adam would watch and feel the blood thrum through his body—the blood call of desire, of wanting his wife's warm body, of feeling her arms pulling him to her and to lie welcomed between her legs. And her sweet voice, telling him of her love for him. That was bliss—that was paradise, his heaven on earth._

 _"_ _Oh, Adam, no. It's…well…" she ducked her head and Adam couldn't see her face for the sides of the bonnet. "I confess anger…you know I often feel anger with you and that's wrong—I'm often peevish and petty. I confess my sloth-I put off doing what I know I should, my dusting or scrubbing the floors-to sit and read my Bible or sit on the porch just to enjoy the sun. I confess to vanity. I often look at myself in the mirror and think I might be…pretty. At least I hope I am to you. And I confess my times of lust, when I think of you and….those are the things I confess. I am burdened with sin, Adam, until I am forgiven and complete my penance and then…I can't explain it to you, Adam, but I feel so light and clean."_

 _But Adam resented her being given a penance—almost as much as he envied her the faith she had, the clean and simple belief in forgiveness. Kat would kneel in their bedroom after they returned and say her "Hail Marys," many times over. Adam would notice her face; it wasn't the face of someone who was resenting their punishment. It was the expression of divine peace and he made the comparison between Kat's face and the face of the Madonna statue in the church courtyard, something Kat would say was blasphemous._

 _Once, Kat's penance was to recite her "Hail Marys" many times over every morning so she would rise long before their day began and the soft hum of her voice, the cadence of "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee..," would eventually wake him but he would lie quietly and watch her. Adam had wanted to ask her what she had done to earn such a penance but he left it alone. He was just grateful that she still smiled at him and allowed him to sweat over her at night. And it was only in Kat that Adam had faith, faith in her, faith in her love for him._

 _She was her father's darlin' Katie Rose, her mother's Kathleen, but she was his wife, his Kat, his everything._

But that last morning, the last morning he had Kat on his lap, laughing at her fear of being seen by Mai Wong, cautious that the girl would see her being dandled on her husband's knee, he should have taken her, swept her up and carried her up the stairs and enjoyed her, tasted her skin, her mouth and felt the yielding softness of her body, her flesh enveloping him. And when he thought again of Kat, he groaned—not from desire but from loss, from the hollowness of his soul.

And he didn't want any person he loved to feel such pervasive grief. So when Marshal Braddock returned, Adam knew what answer he would give.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, Mr. Cartwright," Marshall Braddock said, "what's your answer?" Braddock hoped Cartwright would snarl and tell him to go to hell. Braddock didn't much want to ride herd over some rich man who had committed such a flagrant murder and was now, as the wealthy always did, wriggling out of the noose. Besides, he wanted to sole responsibility—and possible glory-of the mission.

Adam sighed. The sun would be up in another 40 minutes and he imagined that his father and brothers and perhaps Sheriff Coffee were already grieving his death and waiting to take his body home. "I'll go along but after identifying him, I'm free to go, right?"

"You help track him down, you identify him and once I get him—once _we_ get him, that is, and I arrest him and take him prisoner, you're a free man. But you tell nobody, not even your family who we're after." Marshall Braddock shifted his stance. He hadn't been convinced by his superiors to take on Adam Cartwright and still didn't think it was a good idea but he followed orders.

 _"_ _The governor received a request from Senator Stewart to pardon or at least stay, Adam Cartwright's execution. Another request came from the man's lawyer although he doesn't hold much way—some Hiram Wood. Anyway, Senator Stewart is an old friend of Ben Cartwright's from when he lived in Virginia City—owes him some favors I'm sure-so the governor charged me with finding a way to save Cartwright's neck. I did some quick investigating, sent some telegrams to a Sheriff Coffee and working on a hunch, asked him if Adam had been friends with Solomon Slade. He was. Seems they grew up together. You tell Cartwright you're authorized to take custody of him if he'll lead you to Slade. Once you have Slade, Cartwright's a free man. You tell him that. Just send me a wire so I can finish the paperwork and everybody'll be happy."_

 _"_ _What if he says no?"_

 _"_ _Then he's a goddamn fool and deserves to hang."_

"You didn't tell me," Adam said, sitting on his cot, "what'd Solly do to have a federal lawdog after him?"

Braddock chuckled. "You haven't heard about Black Cloud? After all that's gone on in this territory over the past two years?"

"Black Cloud? What's he got to do…." And then Adam knew. Of course. Solomon had taken an Indian name. It was he then who had snuck onto the reservation at night and slaughtered at least two-thirds of the Paiute tribe, sneaking into lodges and silently slitting throats of man, woman and child and finally setting the camp on fire and the survivors running from the flames. But before he rode away, he had told a young girl in the native tongue that Black Cloud had destroyed them. It was Solly and his few followers then who had stolen the rifles from the military transport after staking out the soldiers and slowly disemboweling them, leaving them still alive so that they could experience the buzzards ripping and tearing at their intestines. Black Cloud, his chosen name, then sold the rapid-repeating rifles to the Apaches for a fine horse and two young Apache maidens, neither over 14 years. One was eventually returned minus her nose which had been sliced off for some insult against him.

With the rifles, the Apache went on a rampage and slaughtered homesteaders in a swath that encompassed miles of South Nevada and northern Arizona. They took any children as captives and appropriated any stock and weapons. Many homesteaders, those whose small ranches hadn't yet been hit, packed up their belongings and left the territory and those who remained saying "No heathen Indians are gonna run me offen my land," were later killed, their houses and barns burned. Black smoke could be seen in the sky across the territory for days.

Adam pressed his clasped hands against his mouth. Now he understood it all. Black Cloud always seemed to disappear—to vanish from existence. The surviving Paiutes believed him to be a ghost that might descend and slaughter the rest of them at any time. Adam knew Solly, probably better than anyone else and Adam would recognize him no matter if he was wearing the gear of a simple cowboy or in the garb of a renegade Indian with paint slashed across his cheeks, chin and chest.

"I imagine you may not want to hunt down your friend. I'm bringing him in to hang."

"It's all right—we're no longer friends." Adam stood up. "When do we leave?"

~ 0 ~

Ben, Hoss and Joe said goodbye to Adam—the first time that Ben was happy to see one of his sons go off into the wilderness- while Marshall Braddock waited patiently, at least he seemed patient but inside he was roiling; he wanted to go. Nevertheless, Braddock had a wife and two sons and a daughter and he understood Ben's emotions; he himself had trouble saying his goodbyes to his family whenever his job took him after someone who had the audacity to commit a federal crime and here Ben Cartwright had back the son he thought he had lost forever but was now sending him out on a "fool's errand." And his son may not return.

It was all Ben could do to release Adam to accompany the Marshal. Hoss had brought Adam's horse to him and Hop Sing had packed the saddle bags with staples and tied a fry pan onto the side of the saddle. A coiled rope was secured and a rifle in its scabbard but the first thing Braddock had done was slide the rifle out and toss it to Joe who stood nearby.

"No weapons," Braddock said.

Joe caught the .44 Henry with one hand and wanted to turn it on the marshal and blow a hole in his chest. "How's he supposed to defend himself?" The idea of Adam not being able to protect himself on whatever mission Adam was being sent inflamed him.

Braddock ignored him; he didn't have to respond to the hothead.

"I asked you a question," Joe said approaching Braddock. Braddock stood off and braced his feet while he summed up the feisty young man. Braddock wasn't sure about Joe Cartwright; he was small but men like him were usually quick, could pivot and swing out when you least expect it. Small could be dangerous—could be deadly.

When Braddock was in his teens, he owned a mean dog, a big dog and many times it would attack other dogs and most of them were smaller. Braddock would have to pull his dog away but by the time he did, it was always too late, the other animal would be lying limp on the ground. And in a manner, Braddock was proud of his dog, proud that people avoided the animal and him as they strolled together through town.

But once his dog had been in a fight with a spunky, thick-set smaller dog and much to Braddock's surprise, his dog lost. The smaller dog rolling over on its back, had grabbed ahold of his dog's testicles and tore them off—his dog howled in pain and that's when the smaller dog went for its throat and held on until his dog shuddered and collapsed. "Never underestimate the small guy." His father had later told him.

But Hoss reached out and pulled Joe back. "Just settle down, Joe."

"But what's Adam supposed to do if…"

"I'll be fine, Joe," Adam said. "I don't expect to be shooting at anyone—and hopefully, no one'll be shooting at me." Adam grinned and Joe offered a shy smile. This whole business had Joe all torn up as his world had once been stable and now it was upturned; his oldest brother was almost hanged, his father had been in a state of panic, writing everyone he knew and spending sleepless nights pacing the floor and Joe hadn't heard Hoss' deep laugh for what seemed like years. But it had only been a mere two weeks.

"Now, Adam," Ben said as Adam pulled his horse to him. "I know I sound like I did when you were a kid but…be careful."

Adam grinned at his father. "Pa, I'll be careful. I didn't want a second chance but now that I have one, well…Adam looked down and gave an embarrassed chuckle. Then he looked up and met his father's dark eyes. "Pa, I don't believe in the afterlife or ghosts or such and I do believe that there's a rational explanation for everything that happens and yet… Kat, she believed in redemption and forgiveness—believed enough for both of us and she used to pray for me. Do you believe that? Not that I would find God but for me to be kept safe. I feel…" Adam looked down again and then grinned at his father.

"That she's brought all this about?"

Adam nodded. "As ridiculous as it is, I just feel her hand in this…." Adam felt his throat constrict with emotion. He couldn't tell his father about how he could swear he had heard Kat call his name early that morning but then he was just waking from a light slumber and it was probably a dream. It must have been a dream but still—he had smelled her lavender water on the summer air and heard her laughter as she tried to wake him but he didn't want to wake because then she would be gone.

"I think you may be right, Adam." Ben said.

Adam shook his head. "I don't know, Pa, I just don't know." Adam raised himself up in the stirrup and mounted his horse. His family stepped back and Braddock mounted his big, gray horse.

"Adam, here." Ben slipped his hand into his shirt pocket. "You had asked me to keep it for you…" Ben stopped himself. Adam had given him the cross when he had visited him the night before.

"Keep it with my mother's jewelry, Pa. Kat wasn't one for jewelry but the cross she wore."

 _"_ _Kat, it's a cross." Adam looked at his wife who sat holding the small box and staring at the contents, not saying anything, her face unreadable to him. "I know a crucifix would be more in keeping with your religion but since you have your rosary…Kat, what's wrong? Did I make a mistake?"_

 _Kat looked up at him. Adam was so eager to please her and afraid he hadn't. He was always bringing her back little things just to see her smile, some wildflowers, candy, a scarf and now a cross from Sacramento. And Adam always seemed like an eager young boy courting his first crush—so hopeful. "There's nothing wrong, Adam. It's beautiful and…oh, my darling husband. Help me, will you?" With shaking hands, she took the cross from the box. It was hanging from a fine gold chain. "I'm afraid I'm too happy…" She stood and handed the cross to Adam and turned her back to him. Her hair was up already so he stood behind her and placed the chain about her neck. The S-clasp gave him a bit of trouble but it was soon hooked and Kat turned to him, smiling. "Thank you, Adam. I'll treasure it always," She put a hand to it and felt the smooth surface of the piece._

"I'll be back home before you know it," Adam said. He noticed an odd look on his father's face. "The Ponderosa, Pa. I'll return there." Adam's voice was thick with emotion.

"I understand, Adam. We'll be waiting."

His horse tossed its head, and practically danced in place, eager to leave while Adam firmly held its reins. Firmly; he was loathe to go. He looked at his father and brothers standing there with brave smiles. He knew he could never forget their faces but he wanted to burn their images in his brain just in case he never returned to them. And then Braddock said. "Let's go," and Adam kicked his horse and Braddock followed, both taking off at a canter. Adam wondered if he would ever return.


	6. Chapter 6

**I posted this short section because I have been accused of copying another story "word for word." You can read the review that accuses me. Anyway, it took me awhile to find the referred-to-story that ended on the 4th and then I read the first few chapters and I have to admit that the premise is so similar it may seem as if I copied the idea but I did not. Anyway, you can make up your own mind and decide whether or not you want to continue reading this story. Many of my reviewers I found also reviewed that story (I looked at the reviews today as well) and made no comment of any similarity.**

~ 0 ~

Adam sat with his back against a boulder eating a plate of beans. Braddock wasn't much company, wasn't inclined to converse but that suited Adam just fine; he liked being left alone with his own thoughts. It therefore surprised him when Braddock asked him about Black Cloud, about Solomon Slade.

"How'd you come to be friends with someone like Slade?"

"He was friendly the first day I showed up at school; I was a Yankee and new to the territory. We became friends and stayed friends for a long time." Adam used a piece of bread to wipe up the remains of his dinner. He tossed the tin plate on the ground.

Braddock put down his plate and rolled a cigarette. He didn't offer one to Adam and Adam didn't ask. He wasn't one for smoking anyway but he enjoyed one when he was drinking; cigarettes and smooth whiskey complemented each other.

"So what broke up the friendship?" Braddock asked. He drained his coffee.

Adam was slow to answer. "Things happened. We went separate ways." Adam didn't want to talk about Solly, didn't even want to think about him. But he couldn't help it.


	7. Chapter 7

**The inspiration for this story is actually the old Eddie Murphy, Nick Nolte movie,** ** _48 Hours_** **. I saw it on TV a few weeks ago (Eddie Murphy is released from prison into the custody of Nick Nolte, a policeman, to catch a criminal.) This story is the result of my permutations of the plot**.

Adam studied Braddock as they sat across from each other. He knew Braddock had tried to intimidate him early on with his position and authority; presented himself to Adam, as Adam told his father, "As my Lord and Savior." Ben had started to chastise Adam but then stopped. He was too tired to worry about blasphemy; Adam already had enough sins on his head according to their beliefs and until Adam felt remorse and regret and sought forgiveness in prayer for his sins, well…Ben couldn't think about it.

 _Kat's priest, Father Healey, traveled to Carson City to see Adam in jail. He said it was the least he could do for Mrs. Cartwright's husband—she was a glorious rose of faith. Adam almost sent him away but he had a question, something had been bothering him._

 _"_ _Father Healey," Adam stammered a bit—he didn't want to sound foolish. "About Kat—I know that she believed that…to die with all one's sins…I sound a bit like Hamlet here but it's the same concept. I don't believe in purgatory and hell, especially not for someone like Kat but in your doctrine, she died without the Extreme Unction, with all her sins on her head she would go to purgatory—or hell. But not Kat, She was good."_

 _Father Healey smiled gently. Adam had given up the cot for Father Healey to sit on and he had taken the small stool, the only other piece of furniture in the cell except for a washstand and a bucket in the corner as his latrine._

 _"_ _Not to worry, my son. Kathleen died a martyr from what I hear, protecting a young maid of 13—a heathen maid but in the eyes of our Lord, a child of God as well. To give up one's life for another as our Lord Jesus did to save the world, what could be grander?"_

 _Adam wanted to tell Father Healey just what could be grander. That Kat was still alive and in protecting herself and Mai Wong, she had shoved the gun barrel down Hank Cowell's throat, pulled the trigger and the bullet blew out his ass. But he remained quiet. He needed to know—for Kat's sake—for his own peace of mind._

 _"_ _But I performed the Last Rites in the doctor's office with her parents present to pray. I'm sure your wife ascended directly to heaven and our Mother Mary welcomed her with open arms. I'm sure of that."_

 _"_ _Yes," Adam said. "I'm sure." And Adam had wondered if having Hop Sing pray to Kwan Yin would be really praying to the Holy Mother. Had it been anther time and not one of loss and despair, Adam would have engaged Father Healey in a lively argument of comparative beliefs but he was too weary and tired and his wit was dry._

 _"_ _Would you like me to pray with you son?" Father Healey asked gently._

 _"_ _No," Adam replied quietly. "If you wouldn't mind, Father Healey, I am really not up to entertaining…" He moved one hand about the room as if calling attention to his drab surroundings._

 _"_ _May I pray for you on my own then?" The priest rose, holding his Bible._

 _"_ _Suit yourself, Father." But Adam surprised himself as he did want Father Healey to pray for his soul. Not for a reprieve, not for a clash of divine lightning that would crack the cell apart and free him, just for…he wasn't sure what he wanted. Yes, he was—he wanted to be reunited with Kat and then he realized why he was so complacent about being hanged. He might be with his Kat again—or not—but the gamble was worth it._

But as much as Braddock had tried, Adam wasn't cowed but he felt it was best to just stay quiet and let Braddock believe that he was browbeaten. The two men had basically ridden in silence after Braddock had informed Adam that should he try to escape, Braddock had permission to kill him, "shoot you down like a damn dog." Adam had smiled but Braddock, who rode behind him, his gun at ready, couldn't see. Braddock informed Adam on the direction to head. The last piece of intelligence Braddock had received, he told Adam, was that Black Cloud was deep in eastern Arizona Apache territory. His last association had been with a renegade group who had earlier been living on the Rio Verde reservation and managed to avoid the forced march to the internment camp at San Carlos. According to Braddock, since Indian reservations were under the aegis of the federal government, they were all outlaws, but in particular Black Cloud. He was the worst of them, Braddock had said, and may be stirring up the Apaches even more, moving from group to group and urging them to unite. The Apaches, "for ignorant, half-naked pagans," were good strategists and "they carry 'round an unquenchable hate for us whites."

Adam had listened quietly. He knew about Sam Carlos being basically a prison and he knew about the lengthy march the Indians endured though hills, and wet weather and rough terrain across Arizona to go from Rio Verde with its lush earth and animal populations to the desert environment of San Carlos.

"Well," Adam said as he pulled his horse's saddle nearer to pillow his head for the night, "See you in the morning." He had already spread out his bedroll and lay down, rolled over on his side and pulled the blanket up.

"Which do you want?" Braddock asked.

Adam opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Braddock who stood holding a pair of handcuffs in one hand and a length of coiled rope in the other.

"To be cuffed or hanged? I thought I'd avoided that but life's full of surprises." Adam closed his eyes again and settled in. "Just hang me in the morning. I'll be more amenable after a good night's sleep." A heavy kick against his boot sole jarred him and Adam opened his eyes again. He wanted to be angry, to jump up and form fists. He knew he probably couldn't take Braddock but he would surprisingly welcome having the life almost beaten out of him. But he remained lying on the ground posing no threat.

"Best lose the smart-ass attitude or I'll hogtie you. Do you want to sleep with the cuffs or tied with a rope?" Braddock stood and looked down at his prisoner. You had to respect a man who could discuss possible death with a sense of humor; Braddock resented that he did.

Adam wearily sighed and sat up. "I'll take the ropes. Give me some slack." He stood and Braddock tied his wrists behind his back but did allow him enough length between so that his shoulders wouldn't be pulled back tightly. After Braddock had finished, Adam dropped to his knees but pulling up his blanket was problematic and the nights were chilly bordering on cold. At least his Hoss had tied his trail coat on along with the bed roll so he had that. Adam tried to use his feet to catch the blanket end and toss it up on his reclining body but failed. Then, to his surprise, Braddock walked over and took up the blanket, spreading it over him and tucking it around his shoulders.

"That should do it," Braddock said.

"What? No goodnight kiss?" Adam asked.

"You can kiss my ass," Braddock said.

Adam chuckled. He was glad he had managed to get under Braddock's smooth lawman façade. And then he tried to make his mind go blank so he could hopefully sleep without dreams. He didn't want to cry out for Kat in his sleep; he had to maintain an invulnerability—his façade.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite the slack in the rope binding his wrists, Adam woke up with sore shoulders and one numb arm. The night had seemed interminable since every time he rolled over onto his back while sleeping, he woke. By means of looking at the moon, he could approximate the time and it seemed to move by the smallest increments across the heavens. While trying to find a comfortable position on first one side and then the other, his blanket fell off him and to top it all, he had to listen to Braddock snoring.

"Like sleeping in the same room with Hoss." Adam knew he snored but Hoss practically shook the window panes and Braddock, being a big man as well, was the same.

In the morning when Braddock released Adam's hands to relieve himself and eat breakfast, Adam was in ill humor.

"Damn it all," Adam practically spat at Braddock. "Thanks to you and that goddamn rope, I have to loosen up my shoulders before I can even hold myself to aim to piss…" He could hear Braddock chuckle while he crouched at the campfire he had stoked up from the previous night's ashes, placing the coffee pot on the flames.

"Don't step away too far," Braddock said. "Keep where I can see you."

"Fine," Adam snarled. "How about I come over there and piss on your boots? That close enough?"

Braddock chuckled. "You might get some of it in your morning coffee, you do that."

"Your coffee tastes like piss anyway," Adam said buttoning his trousers and returning to the camp fire. "Oh, hell. You're just warming up last night's coffee. That stuff'll burn a hole in your gut you warm it up again."

"We don't have time to cook. Count your blessings. Here." Braddock tore a piece of bread off the loaf he had taken from Adam's saddlebag the night before, a loaf of Hop Sing's salt-rising bread. "That's your breakfast."

Adam barely acknowledged it, not even sitting down to eat the bread or drink the coffee Braddock poured in a tin cup. He felt mean, especially now that the sun was rising and the day began to heat up. So before they headed out after Black Cloud, Adam tied his jacket along with his bedroll onto his saddle.

"You sure we're headed in the right direction?" Adam asked as he mounted up after checking all his gear. "I haven't seen signs of anyone having come this way." Adam hadn't been looking for signs, just riding in the direction Braddock wanted but he felt like antagonizing the man.

"No," Braddock answered, balancing his rifle across his lap as he gathered his reins before kicking his horse on. "No, I'm not all that sure but I have a gut feeling. Besides we're tracking Indians, remember?"

"Yeah, or they're tracking us." Adam moved his horse forward and it tossed it's head as it started out.

"Why do you say that?" Braddock asked, his voice suspicious.

"Just because they're Indians and that's what they do."

The two men stopped for a lunch of hard tack and jerky washed down with tepid canteen water. The horses, tied to a scrub tree, grazed on the short, sparse grass. Since Braddock sat with his rifle ready, scanning the area, Adam pulled his hat down over his eyes and dozed in the shade of a grove of stunted trees. He could hear the small noises about him, the call of a bird, the hum of an insect, the soft scuttle of a lizard but they were all background noise and never truly broke through; they would just bring him almost to the brink of waking but then release him and Adam would drop back into a light sleep again.

When it was time to move on, Adam still felt a heaviness behind his eyes. He hadn't slept well for almost three weeks now and weariness hung heavy on him. No longer was he living on nervous energy, fueled by his expectation of death and his body, almost burned out by the heat of the intensity of the past few days, begged for rest, longed for hours of undisturbed sleep. A headache was forming at the base of his skull and the heat and dust and sun inflamed it. Adam knew that soon, the pain would radiate and tunnel through the alleyways of his neck and shoulders until every step his horse took throbbed through his head. But he rode on, not really paying much attention, just letting his horse walk on, Braddock's following.

"You have any kids?" Braddock asked.

At first, Adam briefly wondered who Braddock could be speaking to and then he realized that it was he.

"No." Adam replied. "You?"

"Yeah-a boy and a girl."

"Humph. Seems like you'd find another area of work leastways I would if I had two children. Must be hard on them having you gone so much."

"That's what my wife says. Always telling me to get another job. Her father owns a dry goods shop in St. Louis. Wants me to quit and move the family there and work for him."

Adam was puzzled as to why Braddock had become, for him, downright loquacious. But if it helped keep Braddock from tying his wrists at night, he'd talk although Adam doubted he could fool Braddock by falsely befriending him. Braddock must be bored, Adam decided. He knew he was. So far, all they had seen was dust, dirt, boulders and a few wary coyotes. And Adam was still confused as to how they were to capture Black Cloud if he had joined with a group of Apaches. But then he hadn't asked Braddock about the strategy. Maybe, Adam decided, he was just to point and say, "That's Solly Staples—Black Cloud." Then Braddock would be able to identify him to a group of soldiers. But Braddock had said that once he had Black Cloud in custody, only then could Adam could head home. Suddenly Adam felt duped; this could take months—perhaps even a year or more. But, he rationalized, having a new appreciation for life, having any life was better than none, or as Achilles had said in underworld, "Better to be a live slave than a dead hero."

His eyes closed against the pain now creeping up his scalp. But Adam, with effort, responded. "It's a nice city—St Louis. Lots of beautiful women and places to meet them but the last time I was there was my honeymoon…"

Braddock laughed. "I guess there was no whoring for you that time."

Adam had surprised himself. He had mentioned his honeymoon—hadn't thought about it for a day or two—had tried not to-and now it hit him full-force again—his loss. The feel of Kat's small gloved hand in his as they walked from the terminal to their hotel; she hadn't wanted a hack, wanted to walk and y take in the sights, and as in all things, Adam had indulged her.

It seemed that he saw St Louis for the first time, seeing it through Kat's eyes. He had laughed at her reaction to the exotic foods she tasted for the first time, her disgust at oysters—"You eat them raw?"—and her delight at rich layered pastries filled with French cream, the platters of sugared fruit and the rich puddings flavored with brandy.

The memory of Kat's first train trip, and her amazement at how quickly the scenery flew by them. But their nights in their private sleeper car—those he cherished most-of how the gentle motion of the train as it rocked back and forth on the tracks, matched the movements of his hips, their rhythmic thrusting as he made Kat his wife. He remembered her hands as they twisted the corners of the crisp, stiff pillowcases as she uttered small cries beneath him, as he kissed her throat. And he felt anew the pain of loss and it almost gutted him.

Braddock was still talking, "so I said to my wife, is that what you want for your boy? Sacramento is promising…"

Braddock was nervous. Adam had pulled himself away from his reverie the way a man wrenches himself awake from a horrifying dream and realized that Braddock was one of those men who talked when he became worried. Braddock was worried. And he continued talking.

"But Sacramento's the city's capitol. Important thing are going to happen…"

Adam heard a sharp crack ring out. He horse started. It was a rifle shot. He turned his horse and saw Braddock sitting in his saddle, his mouth open but then his horse startled slightly as the reins dropped and Braddock toppled off his horse. Adam knew Braddock was dead before his body hit the ground.

Adam leaped off his horse and picked up Braddock's rifle from the dirt. There was no nearby shelter so Adam scrambled to some bush and flattened himself. He scanned the distance but there was nothing. "But the shot was close," Adam surmised. He wished he had been paying more attention, wished Braddock hadn't been killed. One reason is the man had a family. Adam could imagine the visit from another federal agent delivering the news to his now-widow and children. And also because he would be blamed; Adam knew that the accusation would be that he had wrestled the rifle from Braddock and shot him in order to win his freedom. After all, he was a convicted murderer. How could he go back? There would be no exonerating evidence.

His head was throbbing with pain as he looked around at the terrain. He hated that country, the heat, the merciless sun and the lack of any lush green except in small patches. Braddock had said water was only another five miles and Adam had planned on washing his body, washing the muskiness and sweat from his armpits and loins. Feeling the coolness and the softness of the water. And now he was practically eating the dirt that floated up at his every movement while he looked for who had shot Braddock. Then a voice rang out.

"Don't shoot, Adam. It's me!"

Adam became tense. He didn't recognize the voice until he saw a stocky, broad-shouldered figure come out from behind an outcropping of boulders and start to walk toward him, holding his rifle out to show he wasn't about to use it.

Adam slowly stood up. "Well, I'll be damned. Solly."

It was Solly, older, tanner, leaner and more muscular but it was Solly, He had the same easy grin but as always, his eyes were alert, narrowed; he trusted no one and always believed an enemy was waiting behind every bush, every turn, waiting to kill him. And he was probably right.

The two men shook hands and Adam grinned back—a forced grin but now wasn't the time to hold a rifle on Black Cloud as two other men, Indians, one leading three ponies, came out from other hiding places and approached. Adam held his rifle in the crux of his arm to pose no threat.

"You owe me one, "Solly said, his teeth flashing. "We've been watching you and the marshal for a day and I wasn't sure if you were with him or not. Then I saw him tie you up last night and so today, we waited until I felt like killing him. Why was he bringing you in?"

"I killed a man. He was taking me in to hang. Thanks for saving my neck. You didn't have to, you know—it's been a long time."

"Yes. A long time. Much can be forgiven in that time."

Adam didn't know if that meant that Solly had forgiven him or if he hoped Adam had forgiven him.

"Come. We have a camp not far from here and by the time we get there, it'll be dark. Maybe you'll want to join me—join us. We're all wanted men. Too bad it's not by a beautiful woman."

The two laughed but the Apaches were stone-faced. Adam didn't know if it was because they spoke no English or just had no humor for white men's jokes. But there was an argument between them, a sharp exchange of words and some shoving as to who would take the marshal's horse but Solly, with sharp, loud words ended the argument among them; he motioned to the Apache with two feathers tied in his hair to take ownership so he grabbed the reins, shoving the other Apache aside and raised himself into the saddle. He smiled. He now had two horses and a white man's saddle. The other Apache had to settle for Braddock's jacket, hat and the revolver in his holster.

"I'd like to bury him," Adam said as Solly mounted his horse, a red paint.

"What was it that damn preacher said at my mother's funeral? Ashes to ashes and dust to dust? Well, there's enough dust here to cover the world. Let him join it. C'mon."

Adam glanced at Braddock's corpse one more time and surprised himself by whispering a small prayer under his breath—one Kat said as she ran her rosary through her delicate fingers: The Lord be with thee. Then he mounted his horse and left with Solly. He had no idea what was going to happen but saw no choice. So he followed—what would happen would happen.


	9. Chapter 9

"So how was school. Did you like it?" Ben asked his son, Adam, who was merely pushing his food about his plate after taking a few bites. Adam was a problematic eater—always had been—not liking many foods. He wasn't particularly pleased, unlike year old Hoss, oatmeal and molasses saying it was too bitter. "Bitter?" Ben had asked. "Molasses is sweet?"

"No, it isn't. It's bitter—tastes bad," Adam had said when he was five and too young to own the words to adequately describe the raw, unpleasant, layered taste of the substance. But there had never been any problem feeding baby Hoss.

The infant sat in his high chair slapping at the food on his plate while Hop Sing spooned the mashed peas and potatoes into the child's open mouth. "Like hungry baby bird," Hops Sing had once said, smiling. Hoss was a child after his own heart, his own Buddha baby, plump and happy and loving, reaching out a chubby hand and touching Hop Sing's smiling face. The child enjoyed the various flavors of all the foods and eagerly downed milk from a cup—he had outgrown a bottle the day he bit off the end of a rubber teat to down the milk faster and it spilled all over his round belly. The child was also quick and learned how to manipulate a cup to drink, his preference being rich buttermilk which Adam had declared sour.

Adam leaned one elbow on the table and rested his head, pushing the peas around. He had made a tunnel through his mashed potatoes and was moving peas through the valleys as if they were cars on a train; he was fascinated by trains—anything mechanical. He still hadn't answered his father.

"Adam, take you elbow off the table, sit up straight and answer me." Adam did as told and Ben wondered about this new attitude from the boy. Ever since they had settled on the property, the 40 acres Ben had finally managed to accrue through astute bargaining and back-breaking work ("You clear those five acres, Mr. Cartwright, and they're yours dirt-cheap. It's not the best tract of land but could be put to better use by someone else. Now that I live in town, I got no use for it at all. Agreed?"), Adam had become distant. Hop Sing said it might be that Adam, who had been alone with his father for many years, been the only child, resented Hoss and the attention a small child demanded but Ben didn't think so. After all, Hop Sing spent more time with Hoss than Ben did.

"Now I'm going to ask you again? How was your first day at school? Did you like it?

Adam sat sullenly. "I hate it. Can I stay home and have you teach me like you have been?" Ben had taught Adam to read by poring over biblical passages with the boy or a newspaper he bought in a passing town. Once he had mastered the ability to sound out words, Adam would sit beside his father on the wagon seat and read the stories in the Bible asking questions that Ben answered the best he could—"I don't know all the answers, Adam—you need to know I'm just a man with ordinary intelligence of God and his ways. And sometimes, you just have to accept things on faith, Adam—not question so much." Then, when Inger joined them as Ben's new wife, she would joyfully go over sums with Adam, making up little stories about how the number 100 had a set of twins, 50 and 50 and others. Inger told Ben that Adam had a quick mind for numbers; soon he would be teaching her. And since Adam loved books and learning new things, Ben was puzzled why Adam said he didn't like school. But then Adam really hadn't spent much time among the company of children, just two other boys who were in the wagon train with them; all three had experiences in common and made their own play. This was a different world into which he had now forced his son.

"You're fortunate to have a school to attend, have one in Virginia City. Many children don't have the chance to learn as much."

"But, Pa, I already know more than most of them and…I don't think I like the other children. And…." Adam looked down.

"What is it, son?" Ben put his fork down and waited. Adam flushed with humiliation. "Speak up."

"The teacher slapped my palms with a ruler—five times."

Ben sighed. His first reaction was a desire to ride into town and slap around Mr. Hanson, the teacher, and ask him how he liked being hit. But his second—and more responsible reaction was to ask why. If it was bad enough, Ben knew, that as his father had done to him and his brother, he would have to order Adam to bend over and hold on to the back of the chair while he fetched his razor strop and gave the child a few light smacks to support the teacher; trouble at school meant trouble at home. Ben hated to punish Adam as there was something about the boy, some sense of pride, a deep sense of self that caused the boy to show no weakness. Ben knew that he could beat Adam with the leather strop until the boy dropped to his knees and not a sound, not a whimper would escape Adam until he was sent to his room to weep alone. Because he knew Adam had that streak of pride ("Remember, Adam, pride goeth before a fall.") physically punishing him did no good—just built up inside the boy, stacking resentment upon resentment. The teacher had begun on the wrong foot with Adam. And then Ben realized with a jolt that he should be thinking that Adam had started on the wrong foot with the teacher. "It just goes to show," Ben thought, "how dynamic Adam's personality is."

"What did you do?" Ben waited and so did Hop Sing. Hoss, with his chubby fingers, was feeding himself the small pieces of beef on his plate. Ben glanced at his other boy and as always, the happiness of his child made him smile.

Adam waited a few seconds. "Pa, you always said that if someone starts a fight, I shouldn't walk away but face it."

"I always told you there were ways to handle anything and that force isn't always the answer." Damn, that boy remembered everything.

"I called another boy a bastard."

Ban practically groaned. The word had been in a Bible passage that piqued Adam's interest and then on the way west, one traveler had called another that name in a heated argument over a broken axle. Adam wasn't content until Ben explained what one was. "A bastard is a person whose parents aren't married at the time they were born or whose parents aren't married under the sanctity of religion—you know, joined by God. Although it's more a legal term than anything else nowadays, if you call a man that, well, it's an insult to his family—his mother in particular so that's why they were fighting."

"Why did you call the boy that?" Ben asked in an even tone.

"He called Solly a half-breed and since he's my new friend, I called Jimmy a bastard. He told Mr. Hanson and he made me stand in front of the class and hold out my hands and then he smacked me five times. He seemed to hit me harder each time. One of the girls started to cry. I don't want to go back, Pa."

"Let me see your hands, Adam." The boy reluctantly put out his hands and Ben looked at the welts on his son's palms. Rage filled him but he knew he had to support the teacher; Adam was wrong. But Ben could picture Adam standing ready and the teacher bringing down the ruler for the first time expecting Adam to wince or cry. But Ben knew his boy hadn't so the teacher struck the child over and over—each time harder—until he frightened himself with his rising fury at the child's obstinacy, and stopped himself, watching, perhaps even shaking while the dark-haired, now-sullen boy went back to his seat, concealing his burning, stinging palms.

"Who's Solly?"

"A boy at school—my friend."

"So you thought you were defending your friend?" Adam nodded, not meeting his father's eyes. "You know what you did was wrong?"

"Why? It hurt Solly's feelings—made him cry. The other boys wouldn't let him play crack the whip with us—'cause he's a half-breed. No one wamted to hold his hand—said he was dirty. Pa, what's a half-breed?"

Hop Sing picked up Hoss. "Time for bath—yes, you need bath after wash self in food." Hop Sing took Hoss to the small room where they kept the tin bathtub and Ben turned his full attention to Adam.

"It's a…" Ben tried to think of the word he wanted. "A derogatory term for someone who's part one race and part another." Adam looked blank. "In this case, Solly, your friend, might be half Indian and half…white. In other words, maybe his father was Indian…let's say….Paiute, while his mother might be white. Then, in order to insult him, they would call him a half-breed. Understand?"

Adam shook his head; he didn't understand at all. "If it's true, Pa, why's it an insult? Someone called me a Yankee today and it didn't make me mad. You told me what a Yankee was and I'm a Yankee. Why should I get mad if someone calls me one?"

"It's just people, Adam. Sometimes, people are sensitive over certain things about them and here, in the west where Indians are thought of as savages, as…well, it might be something, an association someone would want to hide. Solly might be ashamed of it." Ben was ashamed of himself; he had hoped that Adam would make some important friends and it looked like on the first day of school he had made friends with the social outcast of the group.

"Maybe Solly, would like to come home with you some Friday—spend the night and we could take him home the next morning? What do you think?

"I'll ask him," Adam replied. "Pa, can I have my own horse to ride to school and back? Lot's of the boys, the ones who don't live in town, ride their own horses. The Bonner brothers ride double. Think I could have a horse of my own?"

"Not yet, Adam. It's too far and you're too young."

"But, Pa…."

"Solly. That's a strange name. What's Solly's last name?"

"Staples. Solly's real name is Solomon—like in the Bible."

Ben suddenly knew who Adam's new friend was and his background and Ben regretted his invitation; he knew it would cause unpleasant repercussions for Adam. All he could hope for was that Solly's grandparents would say no.


	10. Chapter 10

**Historic note: At the time of this section—and the last—Virginia City was called Gold Hill. I decided to just call it Virginia City to avoid confusion even though it's an anachronism. It wouldn't be named Virginia City until Adam was about 30 yrs. old**.

Remus Staples was the blacksmith and the farrier in Virginia City; he also leased out buggies and horses as well as sold them. Ben met Staples when he wanted to purchase two more horses but he found he couldn't afford the asking price—not even for one horse.

"Why are you wasting my time then, eh?" Remus had responded, heading back to his anvil and forge. He was broad-chested and strong for a man in his early 50's. Remus had been in the process of repairing a plowshare when Ben had ridden up and had reluctantly left his work to show Ben a few of his best cattle horses.

Ben was taken aback at the rude response. "I'm sorry…I thought I could afford…I hadn't any idea how much horses cost out here."

Remus said nothing. It was obvious from his manner of speech that he was a New Englander, as rough and cold as the harshest New England winter. The man just began hammering again and Ben, ignored and intimidated, walked out.

It was later when he had talked to a neighboring rancher and asked if there was any other smith—Remus Staples was so unpleasant- to which he could take his horse to be shod.

"Nope. He's the only one around these parts. Might go to Carson City if you think it's worth the trip just to avoid that man—some do."

Ben asked if Staples had always been such an unpleasant sonovabitch and the other rancher laughed. Then he told Ben about Remus Staples.

"Bringing his family out here from Maine, wife, two sons and a daughter, they were attacked by Indians—Paiutes-not far from here. Seems that Staples started out with an wagon train but had a fallin'-out with the other people so he set out alone—damn fool that he is—and his wagon was routed by the Indians. They were a hostile tribe just once all the homesteaders started coming, regularly raiding and burning—soldiers used to have to ride out every so often and kill a few and chase them off but they always came back claiming this was their land. Anyway, Staples two sons were killed—tortured right before their family's eyes, I heard, and he, his wife and daughter were taken captives for a few days—maybe a few weeks—who knows. Notice Remus always wears a cap—that's 'cause part of his scalp is missing. Seems they played a little game with him and Remus lost—or won depending on how you look at it 'cause he lived.

"Anyway, his daughter was used by the braves, apparently just passed around, and then the Indians rode off and for some reason, left Remus, his wife and his daughter alive. But what came later was worse; his daughter gave birth to a papoose—Remus wanted to drown it like a deformed puppy but Mrs. Staples stopped him—think she held a shotgun on him. When the boy was three, Remus' daughter drowned herself in a stream on the outskirts of town. There was only about four inches of water at the time but somehow she managed to keep her face down until she was dead or, as folks say, Remus held her head down until she was dead. Don't really know about what happened. That winter, Mrs. Staples walked into a blizzard and her body wasn't found 'til spring. It's just Remus and his grandson—Solly now.

"The boy's never been Christened, never really been loved far as I can see. Remus sees the boy as a constant reminder of what the Paiute did to him and his family. Shame, that's all he can see when he looks at him. But it's so obvious the boy's a half-breed that I can't really blame him, I guess."

Ben, as yet, had no idea how to break a horse and only had one hand helping him on the Ponderosa, an older man who went by the name of Pops. He gave Ben advice on many things and one day, he took Ben out to see a herd of wild mustangs that ranged on his property.

"That's some good, strong stock," Pops said as he sat his horse. "Catch a mare when she's heavy and you'll soon have two horses. That boy of yours, he could hand-raise it and have himself one good riding horse."

"I'll have to wait until I can hire someone to break them. I can't take the chance on putting myself out of commission—or breaking my neck—just now. You know I've got the two boys and…I just need to be careful."

"I understand. I was thinking 'bout Adam though. It might help him adjust out here. You know, all these boys roundabouts got their own horses."

Ben sighed. He was in turmoil about the situation with Adam. The second day of school, Adam had come home with a bruised face and ribs—he had been fighting at recess. Hop Sing rushed out to meet Ben when he and Pops arrived home.

"What is it, Hop Sing?" Ben asked. Something was obviously wrong. Pops took the horses to the barn.

"Mistah Adam, him be in fight again. I need wait long time after school for him. Sit in back of classroom with Hoss who not behave—cry and fuss—want to go see brother. Teacher make Mistah Adam write. Him him write sentence five hundred times he not fight. Teacher want see you tomorrow. Him want you go pick up son"

"I see," Ben said with a heavy sigh. "As if I didn't have enough to do already. Where is Adam?"

"In room. Him very dark—angry. Not talk ride home. Not say anything. Just go to room."

Slowly Ben found out most of what had happened, what the teacher had told Hop Sing. Adam had gotten into a tussle with one of the older boys—Adam wouldn't say what caused it. Adam had barreled into the boy, Cory Ruskin, and knocked him over. The he began to pummel Cory with his fists but after the initial surprise, the older and bigger boy, Cory, got the best of Adam, blacking one eye and bruising his jaw. Mr. Hanson separated the two and then, after finding that Adam had started it, something Adam didn't deny, he had paddled Adam in front of the class—apparently, from Adam's subsequent behavior, a humiliating experience.

"I let things go yesterday," Ben had said standing in Adam's small room, "but I can't today. You're going to have to get along with the other children, Adam, and as hard as it may be for you, you can do it. You're no fool, son, and if you're letting them get at you…I just don't know. I'm going to have to tan you and if you fight again, well…" Ben didn't know what he would do then. He did wonder if Adam was intentionally fighting, looking for ways to cause trouble so that he could stay home. So Ben had taken Adam to their barn, a four stall building that needed repairs in the roof and walls, and using his strop, he gave Adam four half-hearted slaps across his rear. Ben knew he had caused no real pain but to Adam, that didn't matter—it was just the idea that that he was submitting that was the punishment. "That boy's too proud," Ben often said to himself.

"Now, Ben said, "why did you start a fight at school? I have to meet with your teacher tomorrow so I best hear your side first. Was it about Solly again?"

Adam shook his head.

"Speak to me, boy! I asked you a question and I expect to hear words!"

"No, sir."

"Then what was the reason? Just for fun? Just to see how much you could shame me?"

Adam shook his head and then remembering, he answered. "No, sir?"

"Okay. What was the reason?" Adam remained silent. "Boy, I swear…if you don't start talking I'll take this strop to you until I can't raise my arm anymore!" The boy still remained silent. "That's it!" Ben grabbed Adam by the arm and practically lifted the boy off the ground, turning him around so that Adam faced away from him. Ben stopped himself from using the strop—just stood while Adam waited. Ben dropped Adam's arm.

Adam turned and looked at him, puzzled. "Go to your room," Ben said, controlling his shaky voice. Adam slowly left, annoying Ben even further, and then, once a few yards away, he broke into a trot to the house. Ben sat on some hay bales. He had come close to losing his control with Adam. He had reminded himself of his father and why Ben finally decided to leave and go to sea; his father had beaten him—a beating for lying. But Ben had lied to avoid the beating that telling the truth would have earned him. Ben had sworn he would never do such a thing to any child of his and here he almost had. But his boy had become, in just two days, infuriating. This was not the helpful, polite child he had come to known. But then Adam had always had that stubborn streak, now that he thought about it. But to be downright defiant!

"God help me when he's older," Ben said. He sat in the barn until his breathing settled and his temper subsided. He looked heavenward. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. You always said I was a stubborn, single-minded man. I suppose Adam comes by his steak honestly enough."

The next afternoon, Ben was waiting outside the school at dismissal. He walked into the classroom that was empty except for Mr. Hanson and Adam.

"Mr. Hanson?" Ben asked as he pulled off his hat. "I'm Ben Cartwright—Adam's father."

"Oh, yes. I asked your man to tell you—I'm glad he did. Sometimes these Chinese don't quite understand." Ben turned to look at Adam to see if he reacted to the comment; the boy sat at the desk working at sums, not yet glancing up from his work. "Please—sit, Mr. Cartwright."

Ben sat awkwardly on the end of a bench, the desk too close for him to slide his legs under. And as Mr. Hanson related the events which one of the girls had later told him, Ben slowly understood the situation.

When the other boys saw Hop Sing and a baby waiting for Adam the first day after school, the boys teased Adam at recess the next day. They were asking if Hop Sing was his mother, "If you and the Chinaman were married pointing out that he had a ponytail like a female. It was more than one boy taunting Adam but mainly Cory Ruskin."

"Oh," Ben said, "his father owns a small stretch alongside the Truckee, correct?"

"Yes—a prime piece of property just for water rights alone. If, at the time, Adam had informed me, I would have ended the confrontation but he did not. These boys seem to have some sense of honor about what they call 'snitching'. Nevertheless, Adam started a forceful altercation. As I said, I found out the circumstances later but had I known, it still wouldn't have changed how Adam was punished. I will also be speaking to the fathers of the other boys as well but, Mr. Cartwright, Adam has been in school three days and for two of those, he has instigated a fight."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hanson," Ben said rising. "I've raised my boy to defend himself if need be but not to be aggressive. He knows what's right and wrong but sometimes, the way it is with adults, it's not always easy to be sure which is which. I'll have a talk with him and this will be settled today." Ben glanced over and Adam was still working. "I do have a question about his abilities."

"He's a bright boy—intelligent and good with numbers. I've promoted him three grades in reading and he's now doing a page of sums so that I can see which level to place him in. Perhaps he'll be…happier once he's more challenged. You must remember, this is a one-room school and most of the boys are just here to gain enough knowledge to run a ranch or not be cheated in transactions; I doubt any of them will be able to understand a contract as adults except perhaps your boy. Well, I thank you for coming out this afternoon, Mr. Cartwright." Mr. Hanson put out his hand and Ben shook it.

"Let's go home, Adam." Ben stepped next to Adam who finally looked up. He lifted his desk top and placed his pencil inside. Ben glanced down at the paper full of problems devised and written down by Mr. Hanson. Adam hadn't yet finished all of them but he handed the partially complete paper to Mr. Hanson who perused the page.

"These look good, Adam. Very good."

Ben ruffled with pride but Adam had no reaction except to say 'Thank you, sir' before they headed out to the wagon.

Ben climbed up on the buckboard and Adam was about to join him when a boy stepped out from behind the corner of the schoolhouse. He had tawny skin, coarse black hair that defied any order the clipped cut afforded and was dressed in dungarees and a plaid shirt that was a size too small.

"Adam."

"Solly. Why're you still here?" Adam noticed Solly eying his father sitting up on the high seat.

"Just wonderin' how things went with Mr. Hanson. You okay?" Solly glanced back and forth between Adam and Ben.

Adam looked up at his father. Ben nodded. "Yeah. Things are okay. Can you come over this weekend? My pa said he'd take you home."

Solly shook his head. "No. My grandpa says I have to help in the shop. I usually do—feeding the horse, mucking out stalls and all."

"Oh, I'm sorry you can't come over, Solly."

Ben spoke up. "Maybe another time, Solly." Solly just nodded. Ben didn't like the boy's furtive glances, constantly looking about as if someone was sneaking up on him.

"See you tomorrow, Adam." Solly said and before Adam could answer, Solly turned and ran off.

The next day at dinner, Adam was full of news. He had been placed in the highest grade in mathematics; the other boys were 13 and 14 and Adam was tasked with teaching them how to add a stack of numbers as if it was a list of supplies and their individual cost ending up with a total cost.

Hop Sing grinned. "Teacher, he come out to wagon. Him say Adam smart—very smart boy. Make father proud, yes?"

Oh, yes," Ben said and Adam flushed; it was good to have himself recognized for something other than being a troublemaker.

And there was one more piece of news. Seems like Cory Ruskin's horse died during the day. It was loosely tied to a long line so that it could graze along with the other boys' horses but when school was out, the horse was lying dead, foam on its lips, its swollen tongue thrust out of its mouth and bloody foam from its nostrils. And Solly had turned to Adam and almost smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

Solly's camp was well-sheltered from view, partially hidden inside a canyon. But on the outside of the entrance that narrowed before it widened, there were two wagons—one was obviously military and the other had the bed filled with crates of fine-grade whiskey. Adam decided they had stolen it from a hired transport who was delivering to saloons or merchants. The two Apaches slid from their horses and herded all the horses further into the canyon where all the animals they had stolen were kept. Solly stood and watched while things were set to rights for the coming night that was quickly falling; within 15 minutes, it would be dark.

"Sit down, Adam. Whiskey?" Solly went to the wagon and from an opened crate pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. He held it out.

"Thanks," Adam said, taking the bottle, looking at the label boasting smooth rye whiskey and pulling the cork with his teeth. He leaned his head back and swallowed a few times; the warmth filled his body; it coursed through his veins. He sighed and looked at the bottle. "My head's pounding—this might help."

"Or make it worse," Solly said grinning.

Adam smiled back. It had been so long since he had seen Solly, almost 20 years. He wondered if Solly had an ulterior motive for saving him. Had it been for old friendship's sake or was there something else? Adam wondered how much Solly knew about him and his "crime". But he couldn't see Solly reading a paper or sitting in a saloon and hearing gossip and as far as Adam knew, only his family and the Carson City sheriff along with the judge knew about the circumstances of his release. And it had only been a few days ago. Nevertheless, Adam was cautious—he wanted to give away nothing.

On the ride, a brave shot a jackrabbit and now he sat and skinned it and cleaned it, tossing the guts into the fire where they sizzled and gave off a savory smell; the skin they would lay on a rock to dry. It was a large animal as far as jackrabbits go but unlike rabbits raised for food, jackrabbits were muscular-stringy with little fat. But it smelled good as it roasted and while he unsaddled his horse for the night, Adam's stomach churned with hunger and with the whiskey that sat and now burned.

With little talk, the four men ate the rabbit after ripping it into four parts. Adam shared the bread left and the brave who had won the saddle, emptied Braddock's saddlebags, dumping out cans of beans, peaches, hardtack and a bag of coffee. Adam had yet to reveal that in his saddlebags he had more hardtack, venison jerky, cured bacon, dried apples and more canned beans; he considered he would need the food for his return with his prisoner-Solly. Adam had no set plan how he was going to accomplish it but he was—he had made a bargain with Braddock and owed the man; he would follow through.

Then the Apache's drank. They drank a bottle of whiskey each and laughed and played a gambling game of sorts with carved bones. Adam, leaning back on his saddle for support, lazily watched. He had drunk more of the whiskey and Solly hadn't started a conversation. He was drinking as well but neither of them as much as the two Apaches.

"I need some sleep," Adam said. "If I do, you promise neither of those two will sneak up and cut my throat?"

"They won't. They're not interested in you. But I'd think you'd worry about me," Solly said with a half-smile.

"Not so much. Besides, it might even be a relief if someone would take me out-there are worse ways to die—like a noose." Adam picked up his saddle and moved a few yards away. He would miss the warmth of the fire but at least the gamblers' laughter and cursing would fade. And soon he was sleeping. Inexplicably, it wasn't a disturbed sleep and in the morning, Adam said he had slept like the dead.

What he hadn't revealed was that as the sun slowly rose and he heard the birds, he thought he was home and expected to open his eyes and see Kat. He could even smell the sheets where they slept, feel the warmth of her body next to him. And all he had to do was turn over and he would see her, would be able to reach out for her and pull her to him, her hair like strands of silk between his fingers, touching the softness of her skin, the smoothness of her thigh as he ran his hands under her gown which by now would be around her hips. And then it came to Adam where he was, what had happened and Kat disappeared in a puff of smoke like a magician's trick.

Adam made coffee. There was a fast-moving stream a few yards from the camp, maybe the water Braddock had mentioned, and before he scooped some in the dented coffee pot, he put his face in the stream, splashing water on the back of his neck. The rushing water seemed to purge his soul somewhat like Kat's ceramic font of holy water that hung on the wall by the front door purged hers. Adam always noticed the ceramic font hanging by the front door. Water was water as far as he was concerned and he once teased Kat about believing in "magic." But he quickly apologized; he realized that he had teased her because he so wanted to believe in magic, in miracles, in something beyond himself. But of course, there wasn't.

The two Apaches snored drunkenly but Solly woke with the smell of the coffee.

"I haven't had coffee in years," Solly said as Adam poured him a cup.

"Think they want any?" Adam asked gesturing toward the sleeping Indians.

"Not unless you replace the coffee with whiskey."

The two men sat and Adam offered jerky and hard tack. Solly took it and smiled. "This isn't my usual fare." They ate in quiet.

"What are your plans, Adam?" Solly broke the silence.

"Not sure. I can't go back—I'm a wanted man."

"You said you killed a man. That's not like you. Who?"

"Some drifter. Never knew him."

"Why'd you kill him? Just for fun?"

"He killed my wife—after he…he deserved to be killed—or worse."

"Oh," Solly understood what Adam couldn't bring himself to say. He himself had satisfied his lust on many a woman before he slit her throat or felt magnanimous and released her to go running off, perhaps later to take her own life as his mother had—or not; Solly had heard the rumors as well having them thrown in his face by a few cruel town children. And yet, he could feel empathy for Adam. "Don't blame you. He deserved it then. Should've taken a lesson from the Apache and made his death slower-painful. They learned how to torture from the Spanish who're the masters. Remember studying 'bout the Spanish Inquisition. Only part of history that really interested me."

Adam was a bit surprised to hear Solly talk about history. But then Solly wasn't stupid; he just resented having to learn anything, resented being forced to sit inside when he hated the whole situation. He and Solly sat side by side all through school until Solly left at 14. The other boys would act as if Solly smelled bad or claim he cheated off them and finally, the teacher, for the sake of peace, let Solly sit by Adam who didn't complain. "I thought I'd get some sense of satisfaction from killing him—some sort of peace seeing him dead—you know, the old eye for an eye-but I didn't. Maybe if I'd beat him to death with my fists, maybe then I'd feel something akin to vengeance and gratification but…nothing; there was still the loss and killing him made no difference, none at all."

"You could join us."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why not?"

"I've heard about Black Cloud, about his killing soldiers, murdering homesteaders, slaughtering Paiutes. You're supposedly planning to gather the Indians in an uprising to reclaim Arizona and all the other southwestern territories, to run off the soldiers and free the Indians on the reservations."

Solly laughed but it was a jaded laugh. "Yes, Black Cloud is one murderous son-of-a-bitch. But you're talking to Solly. Besides, those two drunks are my only followers at the moment. We're going to take this whiskey shipment to the Apaches on the border. My hope is that they'll go on a drunken rampage and slaughter every white man they can find."

"Why? Why all this?"

"Because I hate them all—white man—Indian, particularly the Paiutes. You know what they did, using my mother as if she was some two-bit whore. Her life didn't matter to them so their lives meant nothing to me. What they did caused her to kill herself. And no one, no one ever let me forget I was a bastard half-breed…except you. If I could, I'd kill them all…hunt down everyone in my whole life who ever looked at me with contempt and disgust and kill them. But since I can't, I'll make them fear me. Maybe at night the homesteaders say to each other, "Hope Black Cloud isn't on the move tonight."

"I thought you identified as an Indian—a Paiute-but now I understand why you slaughtered them. Can't say I agree though."

"It was so easy, Adam. The Paiutes were all asleep. Since they were on a reservation, they became soft, lost that edge that made them wary. So one night, I just crept from lodge to lodge and slit throat after throat until I was tired of it—actually bored. So I left a few alive, not 'cause I'm merciful but because I was tired of it. Besides, I wanted them to know who'd done it—who had destroyed their people—as they did my family."

"You think of yourself as white or Indian then?"

"Neither. I know what I am, Adam. How couldn't I? My grandfather, may he rot in hell, told me every day of my life what I was—not white, not Indian. He told me I belonged nowhere and he was right. He even told me there was a white people's heaven and an Indian heaven and I wouldn't go to either of them. You do know—or guessed—that I'm the one who set the house on fire?"

"I considered it. But you'd been gone for on to 6 months. Why couldn't you just leave it?"

"Why should I? I snuck in and watched him sleeping. I hated him more with every breath he took so I suffocated him. Pulled the pillow out from under his head and pressed it over his face. On, he fought, struggled and he was powerful—but he was old so I pressed all my weight on it until he was dead. And then I set the house on fire, went a distance and watched. It was glorious."

Adam said nothing.

"I considered burning down the Ponderosa that same night—almost did after all that passed between us but changed my mind."

"I'm grateful for that," Adam said. "Why'd you change your mind?"

"You were the only friend I had. Sad, isn't it? But that was Solly—not Black Cloud who can control full-grown braves with a sharp word or a bottle of whiskey. Did you notice how I ended the argument between them over the horse? "

Adam nodded.

"That's because Black Cloud is the hero they've waited for—might even be mythological—their savior. Black Cloud is the one who has killed soldiers, staked them out for all to see his power and who has slaughtered the Paiutes who offended him. I have a reputation among the Apache as I can disappear for weeks and then show up with new scalps—white men, women and children—and alcohol. That alone raises me practically to a deity." Solly laughed and Adam drank his coffee.


	12. Chapter 12

Adam eventually received his own horse, an even-tempered, flashy, blue-roan mare named Bessie. Adam called her Blue telling his father "I can't have a horse named Bessie; the boys would make fun." Ben gave him the horse for his 10th birthday, cautioning him about the ride to and from school, what not to do, to stick to the prescribed road, to watch out for cougars and bears and not to race and to come straight home….and by the time he was finished, Ben wanted more than anything to take the horse back; the world was a dangerous place. But it was Hop Sing's objective observation that "Mistah Adam smart boy—him take care of self. Hop Sing make sure—meet son halfway on road." And Ben relaxed some.

By then, Adam had found his place among the students at school and Mr. Hanson would, when pressed for time, ask Adam to work with the younger children. Although he didn't care for teaching such simple lessons, he did. The children liked him and at recess, he had to quickly get into a game of stick ball with the older boys or the children would follow him around, especially the young girls, calling his name and jockeying for his attention.

It had been difficult to establish himself in the group of boys; there had been more fights but they were afterschool behind the building where no one could see and stop them. Many a time he climbed into the buckboard with a bloody nose and a beaten look—Hop Sing would chastise him all the way back to the house—but the fights became fewer and Adam started coming out as the victor. Working on the ranch was building him up and he never backed down from a fight. The other boys learned not to push him too hard.

And now Adam had a horse, a place in the world of his peers and a younger brother who he loved; she was his tie to Inger, Hoss' mother and his—the only mother he had known. But then Ben brought Marie home. The Ponderosa had been enlarged slightly; Adam and Ben had discussed putting on a second floor but it had yet to be designed. And when Marie De Marigny arrived proudly on the arm of her new husband, she turned up her nose with disdain at the "rude decor" and set about ordering dishes and furniture, drapes and many other womanly touches. She wanted to replace the Indian-made rugs with plush, Aubusson rugs but Ben told her that with all the tramping in and out of the house, it wouldn't be a good idea. But worst of all was that she was there and just because she was his father's wife, she expected Adam to think of her as his mother. Adam swore he never would.

Marie made her womanly presence known, singing around the house, working on needlepoint and expecting Adam and six year old Hoss to kiss their "mama" every night at bedtime. Hoss adored her. He was delighted with her attention but Adam despised her. She seemed to flaunt her beauty and her voluptuous figure and thought nothing of expressing her affection toward her husband in front of others who, Adam thought, "drools over her like some debauched idiot."

And then she became pregnant—"enciente"—and Adam was humiliated. That was when his true rebellion began, when he became better friends with the fun-loving Bonner brothers, Jeff and Rick, and the trouble-making Carl Regan who had lately moved into the area with his father, Will Reagan, the new foreman on the Ponderosa. And because he was a friend of Adam's, Solly was reluctantly accepted into the group. He was bolder than Carl in many ways, meaner than Carl too and the two boys only tolerated each other for Adam's sake. They both considered themselves Adam's best friend and spent most of their time mentally circling each other waiting to get the upper hand.

Then, a year and a half later Joseph Francis Cartwright was born, an infant who had done nothing to deserve the adoration that everyone in the family showered upon him except be Ben and Marie's son; he had curly, dark hair and the face of a cherub. Marie, holding her child to her breast, complained about Adam; he was rude, wouldn't do as she asked and seemed to hate her. One night Ben knew he had to do something; he had been pressed by Marie to speak to Adam—she had cried and said that Adam was unbearable to have around—surly and sullen—Ben had to do something with the boy. She had tried her best to be his friend, to be a mother to him and she understood that he was no longer a child but he seemed to detest her; she couldn't bear knowing that he hated her so much nor could she understand it.

Ben went to Adam's room, knocking once and then walking in. Adam was sitting at his desk writing with a book open on the desk top.

With his hands in his pockets, Ben watched for a few seconds. "What are you doing?'

"Homework."

"What kind of homework?"

"The kind you do at home." Adam's shoulder's tensed. He knew he had given his father a rude answer; trouble was coming.

"Put your pencil down, Adam. Stand up."

Adam did but slowly; he knew he was pushing his father—obeying but doing so with an edge of insolence—he frightened himself. He was thirteen now and almost as tall as his father bur not as broad-chested yet. In another year he would have to make the decision whether to stay in school or leave after the 8th year of schooling. His father could use another set of hands on the ranch; the Ponderosa had blossomed to over 600 square acres and was still growing. Adam's friends could barely wait to leave the tedium of school and work but Adam, although he had never said it, not only wanted to stay, he wanted to go to college, had talked to Mr. Hanson about it, asked what it was like, what courses they offered, and he found his heart pounding at the idea of going back east and being with others with like interests.

"I want you to listen to what I have to say…" Ben put up his hand as Adam started to protest. "You'll think I'm being unfair but it doesn't matter. You're my son and I would like you to get along with my wife."

Adam pursed his lips. Rage against Marie rose but he knew he secretly wanted a solution himself. Adam was unhappy with the situation with Marie. For some perverse reason he wished his father would force him somehow to get along with Marie—but he also knew no one could really force him.

"I know Marie isn't your mother—she's noticed how you don't call her anything. But then you barely speak to her. This can't go on." Ben paused but Adam just stared steadily at him. The boy didn't drop his eyes—almost daring his father to strike him. But Ben knew that would only give Adam more reason to hate Marie. "I'll talk to her and say that I gave you permission to call her Marie. And you can treat her as you would any woman you'd meet in town—politely. Hold open door, say 'yes, ma'am' and 'no ma'am' and other niceties. That's all I ask. That you be civilized. Can you do that?"

Adam was caught unprepared; he had expected Ben to tell him he had to call her "mother" or "mamma" or even "Miss Marie" and he was ready to protest but here he was being asked to address her as if he was a fellow adult. He agreed.

"I don't know, Solly—what do you think?" Adam had said the next day at school.

"I wouldn't trust him, Adam," Solly said. "When it comes to women, well, a man would even toss his own mother overboard for his wife if she's like Marie. But if things get bad—really bad, we can run away. I've made plans and been saving money. I take a little bit from the till every day—been doing it for years. I've got over $200.00 hidden away and when I need to—when I think I can handle it, I'm leaving. You can come too. I have enough for both of us. Nobody'll tell us what to do again"


	13. Chapter 13

As he grew older, Adam remained the star pupil in school—he found magic in learning, but his weekends were spent riding over the territory with his friends whenever he could get away from the ranch. Ben didn't approve of his companions but gave Adam more leeway than he actually felt he should for Marie's sake, choosing not to forbid Adam their friendship, especially Carl Regan's—Ben didn't trust the handsome boy but Carl was their foreman's son and it wasn't worth making Adam stay on the ranch; having a sulky, resentful Adam about the place was worse than letting him go. Solly, who had left school the year before at 14, had to work at the livery, taking care of the horses, cleaning the stables and doing anything else he was told, was also eager to take off and go about with the other boys. And once his chores were done, he would leave—he had no jobs around the house because three times a week a woman came to his house to clean and cook, making enough food to last until she returned.

"How's your momma?" Carl Reagan would always ask Adam and then snicker. The Bonner brothers would punch one another, enjoying the joke. Adam knew what Carl meant, why the brothers laughed. They had all remarked about Marie's sexuality and asked Adam if he ever wanted her—if he kissed his "momma" on the mouth. Adam would glower. Later, in a few more weeks, he would knock Carl down and threaten to break his jaw if he didn't shut up about Marie. But Solly understood Adam's dilemma and when they were alone, confided in him.

"I know what it's like, Adam—I do—having them—you pa and his wife doing things in the house. You know Widow Grunewald who cleans our house and cooks? Well, I thought it was strange that on those days, my gramps would leave the livery for a while in the afternoon, leaving me to watch the shop. You know why he leaves? He either crawls on top of fat Widow Grunewald—I saw them through the window—I peeked in from outside—or if the shop is really busy, well, she does other things so it's fast. They're disgusting. I know what it's like when they're doing it right under your nose. I can't even stand to look at her anymore and for a while there, I couldn't even eat what she cooked. I mean. what if she hadn't washed her hands after taking care of him? See…I know what you're feeling." Adam believed that Solly did. It was a type of bond between them.

It was the day before Adam's 16th birthday and Carl Regan had stolen a bottle of whiskey from his house; his father wouldn't notice, he said. Adam produced a bottle of brandy from the Ponderosa cellar. He had pilfered it two days ago and hidden it in the back of his closet. His father hadn't noticed but Adam was nervous. He didn't like stealing but they had all agreed that they would get drunk on the night before Adam's birthday.

A few weeks ago they had passed around a bottle of cheap bourbon they had convinced a drunk in town to buy for them, giving him enough money to buy himself a bottle as well. They rode out to the edge of the Ponderosa and took turns taking slugs from the large bottle. Both the Bonner brothers managed to hold their liquor—at least longer than Carl, Solly and Adam. Adam's stomach had quickly rebelled and he ended up being the first to vomit, retching violently. But they were determined to learn to drink and so they had vowed that before they all turned sixteen, they would.

Carl's 16th birthday had been in February but for that celebration, all Solly had been able to steal was a bottle of cooking sherry; Widow Grunewald used it in her cooking occasionally.

"This stuff's like water," Carl said. "Hell, Solly, don't your granddad keep anything like whiskey around?"

"Yeah, but he locks it up and I don't know where he hides he key."

"Stupid redskin," Carl muttered and suddenly, Solly was on top of Carl, smashing both his fist's into Carl's face. It took Adam and both the Bonner brothers to pull Solly off and hold him until he calmed down.

Once they released him, Solly stood up and pointed his trembling finger at Carl. "You ever call me a redskin, Indian or anything like that again and I'll kill you. I swear it!"

But now it was Adam's birthday and Carl and Solly had reached a truce and joined Adam, Rick and Jeff Bonner in drinking from the three bottles of liquor; the Bonner brothers had taken a half-empty jug of clear moonshine from the shed behind their house. They knew that their pa would accuse them of taking it, of drinking it and they would deny it and their father would cuff them. But that would be all; their father didn't care that much about their getting drunk—just not sealing his hooch.

The moon was high and Carl Reagan had passed out, lying on his back, drool running from the corner of his mouth while he snored; he had earlier vomited and had crawled back to the campfire to sleep. The Bonner brothers were still sitting on a fallen log—barely sitting upright—and passing from the jug between them and giggling.

Adam had avoided the jug—he remembered his father once commenting that moonshine can make you blind. Solly hadn't drunk from it either. Adam noticed that Solly avoided drinking except for two slugs of whiskey—that was it. Solly wasn't drunk and Adam wasn't either—found he preferred to be in control, not be some drooling, pants-pissing drunk who would end up face-down in his own vomit.

"I have an idea of what I can give you for your birthday, Adam."

"You don't have to get me anything." Adam knew that although Solly worked at his grandfather's livery and stable, he wasn't paid. Solly had told him long ago that his grandfather had said, "I'm lucky he feeds me and gives me a bed and a roof. I hate being beholden to him. One day, I'm gonna leave. Just up and leave like I told you, Adam."

Solly grinned slyly at Adam's declining a gift. "It'll make you happy. I'm gonna kill your stepmother for you."

"What?" Adam wasn't sure he had heard correctly. And even if he had heard what he thought, Solly had to be kidding. He had to be.

"Look, one day when she's out in the yard, I'll just pick her off." Solly raised his arm and made the shape of a gun with his fingers. He closed one eye as if aiming and said, "POW!" raising his arm after as if a recoil kick had occurred. The he looked at Adam and laughed. "Happy birthday, Adam."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. You hate her—I can rid you of her. No one would ever suspect me—no one. Hell, Adam, I can make myself disappear and if anyone came looking for me—I'd do it when only Hop Sing was home—they'd never find me. Then she would be gone for good. You could stay here and not go back east to school like you've been talking. You wouldn't have to travel just to get away from her."

Adam's blood thrummed. He had told Solly how uncomfortable Marie made him feel, how she had intruded into their structured lives and said that he hated her—but he didn't want her dead. Adam had thought he did, had wondered if and even dared to hope, she would die in childbirth when Joe was born as his mother had. But Marie hadn't—hadn't even needed much time to recover. Adam considered it proof of Marie's peasant blood; she couldn't fool him into thinking she was an aristocrat.

"Solly, I don't want Marie dead. I…"

"Look, Adam, I'll do it—actually I've been wanting to kill someone for a while now but I just needed a reason. Now I have one. You've said how she treats you, complains about you to your father and how she fusses over that monkey-boy she gave birth to."

His own words were being thrown back at him. When Joe was born, he had a full head of thick, curly hair, "just like a monkey," Adam had commented disparagingly to Solly. Adam caught his breath. Once when Solly was over and Adam was told to watch three-year-old Joe, he complained. Solly asked Adam to get him some of Hop Sing's cookies—he was hungry—and when Adam came back out, he couldn't find Solly or Joe. He called out to them, feeling a slight panic, starting searching in the barn and around the area. Finally he saw Solly leading Joe by the hand from out of the tree line. And now Adam wondered if Solly had been taking Joe out to kill him.

Adam rose. "You're drunk."

Solly stood up. "No, I'm, not. You've drunk more than me. Think about it, Adam. No more Marie—no more of that whore flaunting herself around your house. I can get rid of Little Joe too. It would be so easy. Just snap his neck." Solly made a twisting motion with his hands.

Adam swung out and his fist slam solidly into Solly's jaw. Solly fell backwards and stayed down, leaning on one elbow and rubbing his sore jaw. Blood came from the corner of his mouth. Adam's chest heaved with fear.

"You stay away from the Ponderosa—stay away from my family. If anything happens to Marie or Joe, I'll tell what you said." Adam turned and left but hallway to his horse, he turned and pointed his finger at Solly "And stay away from me."

Solly left Virginia City two days later. All the horses in his grandfather's sstav bles were killed, a major artery in their necks being cut—they all bled to death. One horse was missing—it was assumed Solly took that one. It was also assumed Solly killed the other horses and Sheriff Coffee asked Remus Staples if he wanted to press charges; Coffe said he'd gather a posse and hunt the boy down and bring him in. Remus only spat on the ground and said he considered losing the horses a small price to pay for that half-breed bastard to be gone forever; if the boy ever came back, he'd kill the boy himself.

Marie died almost a year after Solly left, three weeks before Adam's 17th birthday. And Adam always wondered if Solly had anything to do with Marie's fall. As his father had said through his tears, "I just…Marie was a born horsewoman. I can't believe it…my Marie, my love." Adam had tried to console his father—and to deal with his own feelings of guilt.


	14. Chapter 14

The Apaches woke in foul tempers, cursing at each other with white man words. Adam guessed their heads were pounding from their drinking the night before as they drank whiskey soon after waking. He found it amusing that the only words in English they had bothered to learn were obscenities which they seemed unsure how to use.

"They drink all the time?" Adam asked as he saddled his horse, motioning with his head toward the two braves.

"Most all," Solly said. "Gotta give 'em what they want." There was a pause while Solly watched Adam adjusting the cinch on his horse. "What do you want, Adam? You've never been clear on that—say you want one thing but then, you really don't—all talk."

"What do you mean?" Adam didn't glance over to Solly but concentrated on what he was doing; Solly wasn't stupid, was actually highly intuitive and Adam feared Solly would see his imminent betrayal in his face.

"You're saddling-up. Where the hell you going?"

"I'm not sure." Adam patted the horse's neck. He glanced at the two Apaches who were gnawing on hard tack to break their fast—and probably, Adam thought, to stop the burning in their guts.

"Ride with us. Heard there were some homesteaders west of here. We need some scalps to take back and whatever else they have. I'd like to have something else to present to their leader."

"I'm not of a mind to slaughter any homesteaders." Adam went back to the fire he had earlier built and poured himself the rest of the coffee, stopping just short of getting the grounds that slipped through the strainer in the spout.

Solly chuckled. "Why not? They're fools for coming out here—deserve what they get. I'm sure they were warned about Indians being on the loose but these easterners, they think things'll be different for them than everyone else. They believe they can come out here and lay claim on a plot of land and no one will bother them—especially not the Indians they stole it from. Dumb bastards. They deserve to be strung up by their heels."

"What about the women and children? They deserve it too?"

"I know you don't fight unless you have to, Adam—always put me to scratching my head about that—how you always managed to pick the right time to show that side. You don't think you're a violent man, do you? You think you're so goddamn logical and rational but by your own admission, you murdered someone. I know you say he assaulted and killed your wife so you went and killed him but that still makes you a murderer whether you think so or not. Makes you just like me now, doesn't it? Besides, were you sure—absolutely sure—he's the one who did it? Did you give him a chance?"

Adam worked his jaw. The very same things Solly brought up had haunted him. Was it Cowell who had killed Kat? Yes, he was sure—he knew it was Cowell. Cowell had the Indian hat band as Mai Wong had said the killer had on his hat. He had Kat's cross—Cowell had given it to the saloon girl—she had told him Cowell had—pointed him out at the poker table. He was the one. Adam was sure of it. But Mai Wong hadn't been able to identify Cowell as he lay stretched out at the undertaker's, but that was common; many whites couldn't pick one Chinese out from another saying they all looked alike and the reverse was also true. When she was asked to identify him, Cowell wasn't wearing his hat or clothes—just had a sheet up to his neck, Hiram Wood had told him, and Mai Wong was at a loss. And then Adam wasn't so sure anymore either. Had been tortured with doubt. But it had to have been Cowell, Adam told himself over and over as he lay on the cot in his jail cell. But maybe it hadn't been. Had he killed an innocent man?

Adam had gone through many scenarios over the past weeks. The killer may have come across Cowell and said he needed money, sold Cowell the cross and hat. It was a possibility. Perhaps Kat's killer had also tried to rob Cowell, Cowell killed him and then, in going through his pockets afterwards, found the cross and took the hatband as his own. Or Cowell murdered the killer out of opportunity and robbed him. So many alternate situations arose in his imagination.

"No," Adam said quietly. "I didn't give him a chance at all."

"So are you going to wander for the rest of your life. not lighting anywhere? Or knowing you, go back and turn yourself in? 'Member when we had to learn about the Puritans? You're like them, Adam, but then you came from them, didn't you? Beat yourself up all the time about what's right, what's wrong. Not just judging others but yourself as well. I always admired that about you—how you always accepted the responsibility for what you did. Now us-me and Carl and the Bonners, hell, if we could pass the fault off on someone else, we would. That's how people are, Adam, but not you. You told me about those monks in the Middle Ages who mortified their flesh by whipping themselves over their shoulders. You should've been one of them—just go through life punishing yourself over and over and over."

Adam smiled to himself. Solly was right about him; he was always punishing himself and maybe the puritanical attitude toward sin and punishment was deep in his blood, coursing through the alleyways of his body as it had his ancestors. But he was who he was and there was no escaping it. But maybe he could redeem himself—maybe.

"I'll go with you," Adam said.

~ 0 ~

The ranch house was obviously abandoned—and the occupants had left in a hurry. They had left many belongings and the two Apaches went through the long, narrow house, tossing about what the homesteaders had let behind, angry they found nothing of much value to them. One Apache, Night Bear, put a woman's slip around his shoulders, tying the two ribbons at the waist about his neck. They laughed. An oak china hutch stood in the front room, too heavy to be carted out in a hurry and the taller of the two Apache, Yellow Wolf, smashed the shelfs, laughing as they split under his fists. He seemed to be bragging about his strength to the smaller Indian but Adam couldn't be sure; he wasn't familiar with their language.

Adam was relieved. He had hoped that if the people were still there, still eking out a hard existence on this hostile ground that he would be able somehow to save their lives. Perhaps he could do some finagling with Solly, convince him, Yellow Wolf and Night Bear that the homesteaders could be used as pawns against the soldiers. In that way, Adam could buy himself time and stave off the deaths of the people until he could manage their escape. But it wasn't necessary now.

"Damn waste of time," Solly said as he looked about the empty house. There was a small barn which Adam and Solly went to check while Yellow Wolf and Night Bear continued to destroy the few remaining belongings, holding up some of the clothing left behind; Adam could see that there were a few infant gowns and a dirty rag doll. He wondered if the little girl, when realizing it was gone, cried for her doll but her parents refused to turn back.

"There's nothing of any value here," Adam said as he looked around. "What now?"

"I guess now I take the whiskey to the Apaches. That would be enough, but like I said, I would've liked a few scalps to take back—or a woman to give to the leader. That would have been a valuable gift—earned me the respect I need for them to listen to my plan." Solly turned and narrowed his eyes at Adam.

"You thinking I would make a good pawn in your deal with the Apache? My horse and rifle as a gift? Or my scalp."

Solly laughed and Adam gave a grim smile as well. "Not you, Adam. They like blond scalps—the blonder the better."

It was a little past noon when they headed back to their own camp. The sun beat down on them mercilessly but the Indians didn't seem to notice. They had a few of the homesteader's belongings tied across their ponies—a tin teapot, a wooden chair, some candles wrapped in an infant's gown and a brush along with a few other interesting items.

They rode along in silence, Adam and Solly ahead by a few yards, and then a rifle went off. Both Adam and Solly spun around while the Indians laughed. One had blown a lizard off a rock.

Solly shook his head in disgust. "Wasting good ammunition." Adam said nothing more and when they reached their camp, after unsaddling his horse, Adam found a shady spot and pulling his hat down over his eyes, napped.

The Indians began drinking and Solly also reclined in the shade of the rocks and thought, plotted. He had always considered Adam a good friend even though there was a bit of envy involved. Solly often wondered what it would be like to be Adam Cartwright. People sometimes started out with some of the same blessings. Solly had been told he was handsome—of course it was by some saloon girl trying to sell him more drinks or some cheap whore he found in his travels but he had seen his face enough to know that Adam wasn't more handsome that he was. And Carl Reagan was chased by the girls in Virginia City, almost as much as Adam.

But Adam seemed to have been dealt all the right cards. Life, Solly considered, was like a poker game—you had to play with what you were dealt and Adam had all the high cards—but he could still make the wrong move and he, Solly, could always bluff. But Solly considered that right now, Adam was bluffing—it was possible—and maybe probable. He'd wait and see if Adam'd show his hand. Actually, more like "when." It would happen. And Solly accepted that he just might have to kill his old friend.


	15. Chapter 15

The afternoon stretched into evening and Yellow Wolf and Night Bear drank until they were glassy-eyed, the empty bottles tossed about. They took to playing a game similar to mumbley-peg; the two Indians stood opposite each other and with a knife, threw the knife into the ground trying to make it stick as upright as possible but also seeing how many tumbles it took through the air.

Solly and Adam watched—it was a minor amusement to pass the time. "Make a bet, Adam?"

Adam glanced at Solly. "Bet on what? How many tumbles or who will win?"

"Well, I think Yellow Wolf will win-if they're even keeping score. He's taller, can start the knife spinning higher and he's stronger. I think he'll win. He always does. Actually, I think the two hate each other."

"Really." Adam watched the two. He understood that type of resentment between supposed friends. "I know that odds are odds and I do like to bet on a winner but Night Bear is gutsier—he has more to prove. People who have something to prove sometimes overcome the odds."

Solly laughed. "I don't know about overcoming odds—it's hard to do. What've you got for your stake?"

Adam turned and smiled. He and Solly had already eaten a dinner of thick fried bacon and canned beans dumped into the sizzling bacon fat and slightly scorched from not being stirred quickly enough in the pan. But they were edible. The two Apaches had just drunk their dinner, basically ignoring Solly and Adam.

"Well, I have no money on me."

"Money doesn't do me any good out here. How about your saddle."

"Nah. I don't think I'll wager that."

Solly chuckled. "Not so sure of yourself, are you?"

"Oh, I'm sure of myself—just not of Night Bear." The two men laughed together; it was almost like old times. Then silence fell over them and they watched the two drunk Indians and their knife challenge. "They can barely stand," Adam commented.

"You ever been that drunk, Adam, so drunk you couldn't walk straight?"

"No. I don't like to lose control like that; you never know what's going to happen."

"You think you have control now?" Solly's eyes narrowed as he waited for Adam to answer.

"No," Adam said, looking Solly in the eye. "I'm waiting for you to tell one or both of them to kill me—you could have already for all I know. Maybe while we're riding, one of them will shoot me in the back or slit my throat while I sleep just for my hat—or just because they hate white men or because you told them to. Or maybe you'll be the one to do the deed. We left things bad between us, you and I. Maybe all this time you've hated me and now's your chance to even things.

Did you know Marie died about a year after you disappeared?"

"No, never knew that. But then I never asked about your family, did I"

"No."

"How are they?"

"Upset I was to be hanged. I need to let them know I'm all right—somehow, some way."

"Yeah. I guess you do." Solly sighed and watched the Indians a bit longer in silence. "Did you ever go to college like you wanted?"

"Yes. Went to a college back east—Harvard. Came out a trained architect and ended up scraping cow shit off the soles of my boots every night."

"What about your wife? What was she like? You haven't talked about her."

Adam considered what he should say, what he could say. He hadn't talked about Kat's death to anyone, not even his father—hadn't really discussed his overwhelming loss, his feelings of emptiness.

"I don't want to talk about her. It's too fresh. But she was…"

"Beautiful?"

"To me she was. Prettiest thing I'd ever seen in my life. And happy. Kat was happy. And no matter what I did, even when I behaved like a jackass—which I did more than not-she forgave me."

"You would marry someone like that—beautiful with a voice like an angel—right?"

Adam smiled as he remembered his wife. "Beautiful, yes. Voice like an angel—no. Once when I was courting her, I took her to services and when it came time, we shared a hymn book. Kat couldn't sing—I think she was tone deaf, but that didn't stop her. She sang loud and clear and I couldn't help but laugh. I teased her after and said the good book said we were to make 'a joyful noise unto the Lord,' and she was miffed-told me that she knew she couldn't sing well, that she had ears that worked as well as the next person- but that as long as the adoration was there in her heart, God didn't mind her caterwauling. And she was right. No matter what she did, no matter how awkward or inept, I knew she loved me and I miss that more than anything else."

Solly chuckled and said nothing more; his impression was that Adam wasn't comfortable discussing his wife but he wasn't comfortable listening to it either; envy again rose in his breast. Even though Adam's wife was dead, he had been loved-something he himself, couldn't claim.

Adam considered his situation and the finality overwhelmed him; he was now without Kat—and felt his throat close up at the thought of her and of their last night together. He had complained about the heat, throwing the sheets off himself and he lay, according to Kat, "like a savage—lying there in your natural state." Kat had then asked him if he thought complaining would make it cooler. If not, why do it?

 _"_ _Woman, must you be so logical? Don't you know that like children, women are to be seen and not heard? Now close your mouth so I can kiss it." He pulled her to him and kissed her, his mouth possessing hers as he wanted to possess her body. He felt a desperation as he took Kat in his arms, pressing her to him; he didn't understand it. She gently pulled away from him._

 _"_ _You complain about the heat and then you want to lie together. Seems to me, husband, that you don't really know what you want."_

 _"_ _Oh, that's not true. I know very well what I want. I want you. But what do you want, wife? Do you want a husband who doesn't yearn for you? Who doesn't beg for your touch, beg for a kind word from those lovely lips, long for a kiss and then to lie between those welcoming thighs? Don't you want a man whose lightest touch can pleasure you? Don't you want me?"_

 _"_ _Yes, yes. You're what I want—who I want. Now kiss me and be my husband."_

But Adam was jolted from his reverie, his memories of Kat, by a yelp. Solly jumped up, grabbing his rifle, and Adam followed in kind.

Night Bear had been struck in the foot by the knife. He pulled it out, the blood flowing from it. Whether he had caught himself in the foot or if Yellow Wolf had drunkenly tossed the knife into his foot was unclear but Night Bear was angry. He swung the bloody knife back and forth and circled Yellow Wolf who braced himself for a fight. Solly shouted out to them in Apache dialect, apparently demanding that Night Bear sheath the knife.

"Damn redskins," Solly muttered to Adam. "My fault—I should've stopped 'em from drinking that much; they can't hold the stuff."

Adam was surprised at Solly's insult—and then Adam understood—Solly identified with him.

Both Apaches turned and faced Solly, furious at either his words or his intervention, and Night Bear, quick as a cat, threw the knife at Solly. Solly anticipated the motion and raised his rifle, pulling the trigger at the same time the knife struck his chest and went deep in his ribs. Solly fell backwards and Night Bear did as well, a bullet in his chest.

Yellow Bear stood, surprised, and then hurried to retrieve his rifle where it stood against a rock, Solly, breathless with pain, raised his rifle and shot the Apache in the back. The brave fell on his face in the dirt, his body jerking twice and then remaining still. Adam stood, amazed at what had happened in just a few seconds.

Adam dropped his rifle and kneeled beside Solly but before he could do anything to help, Solly wrenched the knife from his ribs where it had wedged. Then he closed his eyes as the pain overwhelmed him.

"Solly," Adam said as he examined the wound, "this looks bad but you're lucky Night Bear was drunk or you'd be dead. You need a doctor, boy. I think he got your lung ." Adam noticed that blood bubbled out of the slit in the flesh with every breath Solly took.

"I can't go into town, Adam. I'm a wanted man—so are you. Remember?"

"I remember but you're gonna die if you don't get seen. No one will recognize you and I won't say anything. You've got to see a doctor and even then, well…."

"I think…" Solly reached up and grabbed the front of Adam's shirt, lifting himself part way to a sitting position. "Adam, I…" Solly's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped back to the ground. Adam checked his pulse; Solly was still alive.

Many possibilities ran through his head. He could let Solly die and then take his body into the nearest town and explain about Braddock and that the dead man was Black Cloud wanted by the federal government. There would be no reason anyone wouldn't believe him. And Solly didn't want to go to a doctor. He would be complying with Solly's wish.

But Adam couldn't—he would be complicit and he couldn't have another murder on his head. He rose and began to unload the whiskey from the wagon. The military wagon with its markings, would be a target for any wandering Indians. Adam worked as quickly as he could and checked on Solly again before he fetched two horses and hitched them to the wagon. The other horses he let loose from their pen in the gully. Then he put his bedroll in the wagon bed and managed to haul Solly up and onto the blankets and propped him up with a saddle under his head and shoulders. Solly had come to earlier and tried to assist Adam but his breathing was labored and painful. Adam took the apron that had been taken from the abandoned homestead and tore it into strips. With one strip rolled into a square and soaked in whiskey, he swabbed Solly's wound and then he tied the remaining strips about Solly's ribs where Adam could actually feel air come out of the wound. Then Adam gathered the foodstuffs and put them on the seat and the rifles on the floorboard. He fetched two bottles of whiskey and placed them in the bed with Solly.

"Drink when you need to. Better to be drunk and feel no pain then every bump of this wagon—it'll make you feel the knife's still in your ribs."

Solly took the bottles and held them next to him. "Why're you trying to save my life, Adam?"

"I owe you one, remember?" Adam stood by the side of the wagon.

"You're gonna take me in to the law though, aren't you? Turn me over to the sheriff."

"Yes. Braddock and I were looking for you; I was going to help him bring you in and be pardoned. But that's not why I'm taking you in now."

"Oh? Why then?" Every word caused Solly pain. He looked at his friend's face. "You look in more pain than I am, Adam. Why's that?"

"I don't enjoy this, don't enjoy taking in an old friend because you'll either hang or face a firing squad. I don't like either possibility but Braddock had faith in me and…well, I have to live with myself. I need to fulfill my bargain whether I'm pardoned or not."

"Faith—you say that Marshal had faith in you. I had faith in you, Adam, and look what's happened to me. To have faith in someone, you have to know them as well as you know yourself—that's the only way- and I thought I knew you. We really are a lot alike—you and me. The only difference is that I act on what I feel—but you, you just mull it over and mull it over and then do what you think is the right thing to do."

"No, we really aren't that much like and you don't know me—no more than anyone else does. If you did know me, you would've killed me when you killed Braddock. You saw I wasn't tied or cuffed as we rode. You're no fool. You knew we were after you."

Solly laughed and then grimaced. He took a slug of whiskey and then lay exhausted. Sweat ran down the faces of both men and Adam's shirt was stuck to him with sweat.

"Yeah, I knew—suspected you were in cahoots with Braddock but I couldn't kill you, Adam. Not you. You saved me, you know. Saved me from being alone all those years. You were the only friend I ever had—only one I still have."

Adam sighed. "That's another reason why I'm not going to let you die out here in the desert." He walked around to the front of the wagon and took up the reins once he was in the seat.

"Adam?"

Adam snapped the reins and the horses started north. He knew there was a town in that direction. "What?"

"If you were a true friend, you would leave me here and let me die—not take me in."

"I can't do that—I can't let you die." Adam sat stiffly in the seat.

"I'd do it for you—let you die if it would save your neck from the rope. Why won't you let me?"

He couldn't answer because he wasn't sure just why he couldn't leave Solly to die. So Adam snapped the reins and the horses started north; they would reach Prescott in about two days. Maybe Solly would be dead by then and maybe not—but Adam was determined to live up to his end of the bargain with Braddock.


	16. Chapter 16

**Epilogue**

Two days after reaching Prescott, Solly died. "Saved his neck from the rope," Sheriff Lyons of Prescott said to Adam who had been sitting by Solly's bedside, having been released from jail to see his friend out of the world. Adam noticed that Solly was still cuffed to the rails of the headboard.

When he reached Prescott, Adam drove down the main street, townspeople looking at him curiously, men motioning to each other and wondering who he was. A few even walked beside the wagon for a few steps seeing an Indian lying wounded in the back. Then they would rush to tell those who stayed on the sidewalk. Finally Adan saw the shingle for a doctor and pulled up in front with the wagon. He crawled into the wagon bed and managed to pull a moaning Solly down to the open tailgate and throw him over his shoulder. Once Solly was balanced, Adam grabbed the rifle he had propped against a wheel. He could feel Solly's sticky blood soak through his shirt and onto his skin; the wound had started bleeding anew and Solly groaned with pain. Boys, trying to see better what was going on with the strangers (Are they both Injuns? Dare you to run up and touch 'em!) and a few men and women stood nearby, watching and talking in low tones to one another.

At first, the doctor refused to treat Solly. "He's an Indian. I don't treat them. Take him to his tribe and a shaman will tend him. Now get him out of here."

Adam pulled his rifle up and pointed it. "You'll treat him. And you'll do it now while I watch."

Adam sat holding the rifle while the doctor cut away the bandages and then spoke after examining the wound. "His lung's been punctured and it's collapsed. An infection's set in—not good. He's febrile." The doctor examined the wound, pushing gently on the flesh. "Knife wound?"

"Yes."

"I'd say a dirty knife. A skinning knife?"

"Just a knife. A well-used knife.

The doctor did his best to clean and bandage the wound. Solly winced and cried out in pain although he had yet to open his eyes.

"That's the best I can do for him," the doctor said as he washed his hands in a basin. "Now I'd suggest you get him out of here. We've had enough Indian trouble lately."

"He needs to stay for a few days. If I take him out of here, he'll die for sure."

The doctor dried his hands. "He'll probably die anyway."

"You have no idea," Adam said more to himself than the doctor. Solly was going to die even if he recovered.

"Send someone for the sheriff…would you?" Adam asked, breaking the rifle open and placing it on the floor. He was tired—tired of it all.

Sheriff Lyons was a reasonable man, listened patiently to Adam's story. Then he arrested Adam and took him to jail.

"I need some verification of who you are. I'll send some men out to bring back what's left of Braddock and I'll wire the Federal Marshal's office and find out what's going on. As far as that man in the doctor's surgery, well, I'll need someone to verify he's Black Cloud."

So for a whole day, Adam lay in a jail cell and was fed even more beans and bread and bad coffee. It was the morning of the second day that Sheriff Lyons came in with the keys and opened his cell door. Adam pulled himself upright on his cot waiting.

"Doc says the man you brought in is dying—has a few hours at the most. He asked for you. Want to go?"

Adam grabbed his hat and hurried out, the sheriff following.

Solly was laboriously breathing. Adam could hear the rattling in his chest as he fought for every breath. Adam sat in a metal chair that had been pulled up by the bed. The metal rails were cool against his back.

"I'll be right out here," Sheriff Lyon said. "Don't try nothin'."

"Solly," Adam said. "Looks like you won't hang after all." It was an attempt at humor.

Solly grinned but it quickly turned to a grimace. "I told the doc I killed Braddock. Made him write it down—death bed confession and all that. Told him who you were—who I am."

"I suppose I should thank you."

"No—not really—you've been a good friend to me. I tried to make up…." It seemed to take all Solly's breath to talk and he gasped for air.

"Solly, you don't need to talk."

"Yes….you don't know…you saved me….when I was a child…you helped." Solly put out a hand and Adam took it in both of his. He sat like that, holding Solly's hand for almost an hour until with one horrid rattling gasp, Solly died. Adam wondered if that was the sound of the life-force rushing free of the body, glad to no longer be enveloped in pain and the limitations of flesh. He wondered if the "soul" circled in the air, celebrating, and then dissipated into the atmosphere to become a part of all that existed.

Adam pulled the sheet up over Solly's face and then went out to the doctor and sheriff who were drinking coffee and playing cards.

"He's dead," Adam said.

"Saved his neck from the rope."

The doctor went into the surgery and the sheriff stood up to escort Adam back to the jail. "Oh, Doc wrote down a confession your friend made. He says he shot the Marshal—you had nothing to do with it. Now, I just have to wait for a wire from the federal Marshal before I let you go. It looks like you're a guest of the city for a few more nights."

It ended up being only one more night in the Prescott jail; the following morning, Adam was released, told he was a free man and given back his rifle and five hundred dollars.

"What's this?"

"The reward on Black Cloud. You brought him in—you get the reward. You'll need some of that to get your wagon and horses released from the livery."

Adam thanked the sheriff, pocketed the money and went to fetch one of the horses. He traded the other horse and the wagon for a saddle and bridle. Then he stopped by a mercantile for a few supplies. On his way out of town, Adam stopped at a church he had seen while entering Prescott, a Catholic church, he surmised from the round rose window facing the street, the bell tower topped with a cross and the name of St. Francis.

He dismounted and stepped inside. It was cool and dim and candles burned on the altar at the end of the nave but no one was inside, at least what he could see. Then he saw the confessional off to his right and he went inside. It was even darker in the small closet-like enclosure and he wasn't even sure if anyone else was on the other side of the crosscut screen until he heard a voice. "Yes, my son? Have you come to confess?"

"I'm not Catholic…but I have need to confess. I'm not even sure I really believe but my wife, she was Catholic…"

"You must believe or you wouldn't be here. I can't take your confession or give you penance, but I will listen to you. Often just to unburden yourself is enough. So tell me, son, what weighs so heavy on your soul?"

So Adam did. He found himself talking, pouring out all that happened and the priest listened.

And Adam did feel lighter after talking to the priest, after bearing his fears and sins alone to the anonymous voice. He talked about Kat, about how she had died and then he had killed a man who he thought was her murderer—but he would never be certain. Never could be. And he talked about Braddock and that the man had a wife and children—he felt responsible for his death as well. After all, Solly thought he was freeing Adam. And then there was his determination to bring Solly in to hang. Should he have let Solly die there in the gully as he had wanted? And the priest had listened.

"Do you think that these trespasses would be forgivable if committed by a man who believed—or would a man with faith not have committed them?"

The priest told him that all was forgivable—if repentance was true and sincere. "You need to forgive yourself, my son. God already has if you are sincere but only God and you know what is in your heart. And if you have faith…"

"The only thing I had faith in, my wife's love for me but she's gone and so is that. I can't believe in anything else."

"You will, my son, you will. Actually, you already do although you won't admit it to yourself."

Adam said goodbye and thanked the priest for listening. He wanted to go home.

Except for 2 silver dollars—he might need a few dollars yet-Adam put the remainder of the reward money in the poor box by the door. He went back out into the sunshine, the heat slamming into him like a heavy fist, mounted up and turned his horse toward Nevada and the Ponderosa. He surprised himself; he felt better after talking to the priest who listened. And he thought of Kat who always said that it made her feel new and clean to confess her sins; Kat would approve and he could picture her gentle smile.

The sun eventually set and Adam stopped for the night, surprisingly sleepy after a dinner of bread and jerky. He should be home by dusk tomorrow. And soon he was asleep.

~ 0 ~

The sun was setting over the lake and Kat's white, marble gravestone was reflecting the last light of the sun. The gravestone looked as if it had just been placed in the past day or two, the dirt freshly dug, and Adam, his hat in his hands, smiled when he saw the graven words below her name: "Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"Well Kat, it's me—the eternal cynic as you used to call me, and I feel a little silly standing here and talking to your grave—you said once that only the body's in a grave—the husk, I believe you called it. But I loved your body and I loved you and I miss you…I…" His voice cracked with emotion. He paused until he could speak again. "You'll be glad to know that I put the reward money for Solly in the poor box—but I guess you know that." He lightly laughed at his foolishness. "That is if there really is such a thing as an afterlife and you're aware of what we foolish mortals do. Kat, if there is one, if you are some spiritual being, let me know. Let me know somehow that I'm not alone. Let me know." He stood and waited. Nothing but silence and sounds of the night insects.

"I love you, Kat, I always will." Adam put his hat back on. He had never sent a wire home and knew his family would be surprised to see him. But that would have to wait until morning; he wanted to go home now. He mounted up and clucked to his horse. Then he stopped—he thought he heard Kat call his name. But it was nothing. "I'm beginning to lose my mind, Kat." And then he chuckled at his foolishness. "Here I am talking to the air." He shook his head again and kicked his horse onward.

The bowl of partially-shelled beans was still on the porch—it was turned over on its side and beans were dragged out. Squirrels or raccoons—maybe their geese- had been in it and almost emptied it. Adam left it and took his horse to the barn. The other horses as well as the milk cow were gone. "Must be Hoss," Adam said aloud. "You know him, Kat. He's the one who would think of the animals. I'll bet he's even been coming out to feed the chickens and geese."

Once his horse was settled in, Adam walked across the empty yard, his bedroll and saddle bags over his shoulders, and entered the house. The front door was unlocked and he dropped his baggage onto the floor and looked for matches. He found them where they usually were—in the top drawer of the desk. He smiled.

 _"_ _Adam, if you put things back in the same place, you always know where they are and you wouldn't be forever asking me to find them. A place for everything and everything in its place."_

 _"_ _Is that a fact? Now, Kat," he said pulling her to him, "you have to be of some use to me. Otherwise I wouldn't keep you around for long."_

 _"_ _Is that so, husband?" She twined her arms about his neck._

 _"_ _Yes, that's so. Well, you do cook a passable mulligan and you do keep my bed warm for me but other than that…." He bent slightly and slipping one arm under her knees, lifted her suddenly. She gasped in surprise._

 _"_ _Adam Cartwright! Put me down." She struggled a bit in his arms with feigned outrage._

 _He laughed and started for the stairs. "You said a place for everything and everything in its place, didn't you, Kat? Well, let's go put things right." And he carried her up the stairs._

Adam lit a lamp and a warm glow filled the room. He had been considering putting in gas lighting but then there was the issue of the gas tank and reworking the walls to supply the conduits to the gas fixtures—"Easier to just build a new house," he had told Kat. But Adam knew that gas lights wouldn't have the same warmth, the same soft glow as an oil-lit lamp.

He walked upstairs and into their bedroom. He lit the lamp by his side of the bed. He looked about the room. Kat's things were still there—it looked as if nothing had been touched. The windows were still open. He had noticed that the geraniums in the window boxes needed watering. "I'll water them in the morning, Kat. Remind me. Right now though, I need the water for me. I should go stand in a washtub and scrape off these layers of dust and stink."

Adam found he couldn't stop talking to Kat. She seemed everywhere and nowhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement, a whiteness and quickly turned. Nothing was there.

"You're tired, boy-you're seeing things."

Adam washed, the breeze through the window slightly chilling his skin. Then, wrapping his robe about him, he went downstairs and drank a tall glass of water. He sat at the wooden kitchen table and looked about the moon-lit room. "Kat's kitchen," he said out loud. He waited, expecting Kat to walk in and ask why he was up. Was something worrying him? Was he ill?

He sighed to himself. Kat was always fussing about him. He sighed and went back upstairs. The bed had been made so he pulled down the sheets and slid between them. He smelled them and the light scent of lavender filled his head—it brought Kat vividly and painfully back to him. And it was then he cried as the ache of irrecoverable loss overwhelmed him. Finally, exhaustion set in, a weariness and he became aware he was falling asleep—slipping into the darkness of slumber—escaping this reality of loss. Images and colors were before his eyes and then, as clear as a bell, he heard Kat's voice, felt her small hand on his shoulder. _"Goodnight, husband. I love you."_

And Adam felt a kiss on his cheek as light as a butterfly landing. He smiled and was soon asleep. And in the morning he rose to a new day—and he knew Kat was there with him and always would be. He had faith.

~ Finis ~


End file.
